Homerun Part 2 The Split
by AAmuse
Summary: The Universe will hardly wait for Kirk or Spock to sort out the emotional consequences of their actions, to present them with a new highly demanding challenge. Whoever can put an ‘n’ in the ‘split’...?
1. Chapter 1 The Split

**Disclaimer:** All Star Trek characters belong to Paramount. Jessica Quaint is my creation. I am doing this for fun, not for money.

**Author's note:** The story is novel sized, though I will not post it all together this time. I have finished it, be sure, but I'm far not through with proofreading. I'll try to make the updates quick, though.

As promised, this is the second part in the **Homerun** trilogy, which began with _The Heritage_. This new piece, however, is a different story, and there are few references to the first part, the major of which is probably the introduction of Lieutenant Jessica Quaint. If you don't want to go all the way back, suffice it to know that she is a beta-shift science officer, who had served with Spock previously for three years under Captain Pike. Don't worry, she won't be taking too much attention from the others, but I thought it best to explain her presence.

The plot starts within about three weeks period from the events of _Where No Man Had Gone Before_, but the attitudes are mostly originating from _The Heritage_. Nothing too specific, though.

**Note of gratitude:** Thank you all for the wonderful feedback I've been getting after posting Part 1. I'd never imagined such a thing to happen to me of all people, but it really kept me going.

**Codes: **K&M, S, turning to K&S, S&M, K also U, Chapel, R, and ensemble. General/Adventure/Friendship/A little romance.

**Summary**: The Universe will hardly wait for Kirk or Spock to sort out the emotional consequences of their actions, to present them with a new highly demanding challenge. Whoever can put an 'n' in the 'split'...?

**HOMERUN**

Part 2. **The Split.**

By Anna Amuse

**Chapter 1.**

**The Split. **

Doctor McCoy frowned gazing at the gloomy interior of the bar. The murky, dull surroundings, the small number of grim-looking patrons, and the ominous expression on the bartender's face made him extremely uncomfortable. It was definitely not the kind of place he would choose to ease his mind off things. Apparently, though, getting some peace of mind was not his friend's objective at the moment.

The Doctor's frown deepened as his gaze drifted back to the man sitting opposite him, staring unseeingly at the half-empty glass of Saurian brandy on the table in front of him. McCoy was watching him for a considerable amount of time now, but he couldn't recognize the person he used to know in this uncommunicative, depressed man.

He attempted once again to start a conversation, trying to forget the lousy effort it turned out to be the first two times.

"How did you find this place?" The Doctor hoped to sound curious rather than desperate. "It's not even on the map."

Jim Kirk shrugged carelessly, glancing around without any real interest.

"It's not the first time I'm on Kroulen," he said in a lifeless tone. He hesitated before adding, "A friend showed it to me many years ago."

Gary, McCoy translated to himself. Gary showed him the place. Heavens, they really were in trouble. He made a sip of his own drink, the bitter taste of alcohol biting his tongue. Generally, he enjoyed the sensation. At the moment, however, he felt nothing but exasperation.

It had merely been two weeks since he joined the _Enterprise_ crew, taking over for its retiring CMO. It had been a busy time for him, as he had to familiarize himself with the ship's crew and systems, supervise the installation of new equipment and personnel, as well as deal with oncoming emergencies. But, even as his duties were keeping him occupied for most part of the day, and he hadn't had a lot of chance to see his old friend or talk to him, he noticed some extremely alarming changes in him, which now he had the opportunity to observe in full.

He didn't like what he was seeing, to put it mildly.

There was, of course, no denying that an enormous tragedy had happened three weeks ago on Delta Vega. Not only an unsuccessful attempt to cross the galactic barrier had been made, it also killed – there was no other word for it – two of the _Enterprise's_ crew, and one of the casualties had been Jim Kirk's executive officer and best friend. Not only that, but the barrier rendered him a highly unpleasant change of personality even before it killed him. Not only that again, but the fluke of fate made Jim the one who pulled the trigger. Quite enough to set anyone off their balance.

And yet, McCoy was concerned. He knew Jim Kirk too long and too well to see that he was not reacting in an adequate for him manner. True, they hadn't seen each other for several years and hadn't worked together since even further on in the past, but being a capable – if intuitive – psychologist, McCoy knew people did not change that much. Not without a reason.

It was not like Jim Kirk he knew to use the first opportunity to go ashore, leaving someone else to watch over the refit of his ship, and with no one from his crew being able to see him, allow himself to shatter completely to pieces. It was not possible for a man he used to know on Lira II. Not the one who saved his life and the life of his colleagues at a terrible cost to himself. That other Jim Kirk dismissed his worries and started making jokes the moment he was out of the influence of the anesthetic, even though McCoy could tell that the death of his friends and the girl he'd been in love with hit him hard. This present Jim Kirk was stricken by grief so completely, it made McCoy wonder if he could ever snap out of it.

But was it grief? he thought suddenly. More accurately, was it grief alone that made this unimaginable change?

"Seven years ago," Jim said abruptly, startling McCoy out of his unpleasant thoughts. "We came here for refit after a mission to Lotus."

He said that without any hint of emotion, but McCoy knew better than to mistake it for the lack of it. He knew about the Lotus mission. It wasn't a very pleasant memory either.

"Gary and I sat here all night, trying to get drunk. We never managed it, though."

"Alcohol can only help as much," McCoy shrugged, staring at his own drink. For some reason, he felt reluctant to take another sip. "Jim, why don't you tell me what happened?" he asked suddenly, tired of beating around the bush. "You're not yourself. I have never seen you like this, not even after Caitlin."

A humorless smirk formed in the corner of Kirk's mouth.

"Maybe I'm finally starting to act my age, Bones."

"What age would that be?"

"Something about two hundred years."

"Sounds pretty bad," McCoy's piercing blue eyes fixed on him with precision of photon torpedoes. "Mind talking about it?"

Kirk sighed, pushing his glass aside.

"What do you want me to say, Bones? That I killed him and feel guilty about it? I do. Anything else?"

Of course, McCoy thought, resisting the urge to clap his own forehead, as the Captain introduced the new word into the conversation. Guilt. But it wasn't as simple as he made it sound.

"You didn't kill Gary, Jim," McCoy said calmly. "You killed whatever he'd become. The Gary Mitchell that we knew died the moment that thing from the barrier hit him. You know that."

"You haven't seen him, Bones," Kirk shook his head in frustration. "It was as if he was slipping away bit by bit, and there was nothing I could have done about it... If only I had paid a little more attention," he whispered. "I might have been a better friend to him."

"What are you talking about?" McCoy asked bewildered, sensing that they were finally getting close to something.

Jim started to speak, painfully, with obvious difficulty. His words were soaking with self-incrimination and suffering, oozing out slowly, like lethal venom. He looked like a mass-murdered making his confession in front of the grand jury.

"Before Delta Vega, for quite some time, I didn't... I wasn't..." he struggled for words with obvious effort. "We've been best mates for how many years, Bones? I couldn't tell. But when we were both posted on the _Enterprise_, I felt I wasn't as close to him as I used to be. Maybe I'd changed, or maybe he had, but I couldn't feel at ease around him anymore. He annoyed me, he made me angry, God, at times he said or did something that made me positively mad at him. Even now, when I think of it, I can't help but feel angry. That never used to happen before. And I couldn't..." he sighed and changed the word with excruciating honesty, "I didn't want to reach him. I just couldn't make myself do it. Sometimes I couldn't remember why we had become friends in the first place. He was so close-minded, so arrogant, so unbelievingly over-confident – there were certain moments when I doubted him, Bones. I couldn't make myself trust him again. And that was the man who covered my back numerous times, the man, to whom I own my life half a dozen times over. He did nothing – nothing – to justify my change of heart, but even realizing it, I couldn't get back to what we had. I failed him, Bones. I betrayed him. Not by shooting at him, you're right, I know I didn't have a choice by then. But long before that, I acted like a whimsical schoolgirl, who's got a new fancy every other day."

McCoy listened to him acutely without interrupting, without objecting. He knew Jim had to talk it all out, so he let him. But it was hard to keep silence, still. He had been waiting to hear something like this for quite some time now. For several years, at the very least.

From the moment he met both Gary and Jim, McCoy had been wondering how two such completely different personalities could get together. Jim resembled bottomless multi-layered ocean – calm and bright on the surface, boiling and unpredictable in the depths, which not a lot of people were allowed in. Compared to him, Gary was like a hotel swimming pool – shining and transparent, handsome and shallow. He was an attractive form where Jim was a mighty, willful substance, and McCoy often wondered when – if ever – the moment was going to come when Jim would see it, too. That's why from the instant Jim started talking, he realized what he was going to hear. The moment had come, after all, but it could hardly have chosen worse timing.

"Jim, listen to me," McCoy said firmly, trying to make eye contact. "These things happen. You're not whimsical anything, you're just – human."

"Bones..."

"Don't 'Bones' me. You say you can't remember why you had become friends, well, for your information, I've been wondering the very same thing for years. You two made more unlikely candidates to end up as friends than an Andorian and a Vulcan. No, listen to me. It's not only me, Jim, and I'm not saying this because Gary's gone. I never said anything because I saw how adamant you become when some of your friends are involved. He was no match for you. There is no shame in admitting it."

"He wasn't a bad person, Bones," Kirk said stubbornly. "And I'm no angel."

"I never said you were. I never said he was. But over the years you did change, Jim. In every sense imaginable – you grew up. He didn't. Some people never do. It wasn't his fault, and it wasn't yours. It was the time to separate ways, and it was just an unfortunate eventuality that it happened the way it did."

"You're saying I should be happy he's actually dead?" Kirk tilted his head, his eyes narrowing in anger. "That it saved me the trouble of saying, 'Hey, pal, it's been a pleasure, but I've grown up so much by now, it's time for me to get rid of the ballast?'"

"I didn't say anything of the sort, Jim," McCoy objected calmly, and his cool tone seemed to have quieted things a little. "What happened is a tragedy," he added after a pause. "And I feel truly sorry Gary's dead. He was a good fellow. But to blame yourself for being who you are is pointless."

"You might want to try 'illogical.'"

McCoy looked at him sharply. Was Jim trying to lighten the mood? Or merely to evade the subject?

"I might," the Doctor nodded with calculated sarcasm, deciding to take his lead, "if I didn't see only yesterday how well it works with you. Mind you, the look on that Vulcan's face when you told him just what to do with his logic... Ah, it was priceless."

Kirk frowned at the reminder.

"I shouldn't have lost my temper," he shook his head regrettably. "He was only trying to set things right."

He didn't sound certain, though, and McCoy most surely couldn't miss it.

"All right, out with it, Jim. What's wrong between you and that walking calculating machine? Speaking of annoying beings, he could probably set a record. Where did you dig him up in the first place?"

"He served on the _Enterprise_ under Pike."

"And didn't move on with him? Though, if I were Pike, I'd seize the first chance to put some distance between me and that arrogant cold-blooded computerized automaton."

"Bones," a mild reproach rang clearly in Jim's voice. "He's a fine officer. He's been an enormous asset to Pike, and to me."

"Really?" McCoy didn't look convinced. "Then kindly explain to me why we are in search of a new executive officer? If Spock is such a candy, why don't you offer the position to him? It's only _logical_, don't you think?"

Kirk's face fell, and McCoy cursed himself mutely. Just when they started to make some progress...

"I did," Jim's voice was flat and quiet. "He turned me down."

"Come again?" McCoy couldn't quite believe his ears.

"He turned it down," Kirk repeated louder, obvious hurt expression on his face. "Without giving any reason."

"Son of a bitch." McCoy couldn't help it.

Kirk shook his head again sadly, but determinately.

"We're not at war with anyone, Bones. It's his right to make whatever career steps he sees fit."

"Yeah, but at a time like that he could have... I don't know. He could have shown some sympathy."

A faint smile furrowed Jim's lips and faded instantly.

"He can't show what he doesn't feel. I used to think he respected me, though. At least, until Delta Vega."

"Son of a bitch," McCoy muttered again under his breath, watching the tormented look on his friend's face. Whatever that damn Vulcan was up to, he couldn't have picked the worst possible moment.

In unison, they reached for their glasses. Watching Jim sliding back fast towards the devastated frame of mind he'd come out for a moment, the Doctor couldn't help wondering if it was Gary's death or Spock's poorly timed rejection that had caused more damage to that already troubled soul.

--

"I'm telling you, he's just mean," Kevin Reilly was saying to Christine Chapel, trying to impress the new Head Nurse, who turned out to be a rather pretty young woman. "Everybody says so."

"And you've consulted with everyone before making up your mind?" she asked, pushing him roughly back on the examination table. "Or can you make your own opinion?"

"Fine, don't trust me," he said in an insulted tone, watching the instruments, she was handling, apprehensively. "Wait till you see him in action."

She shrugged, adjusting the sensors above his head.

"I've already seen Mr. Spock when he greeted the newly transferred personnel aboard. I haven't noticed anything 'mean' about him."

"Yeah?" the Navigator's eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline. "What about the way he treated Doctor McCoy? That sure wasn't friendly."

He rose up on his elbows again, and she had to push him back once more.

"Doctor McCoy was out of line as he so frequently is, and if you ask me, Mr. Spock showed him much more patience than someone else might have."

"Not you too," Reilly was watching her in horror. "What's wrong with you, ladies?"

"At the moment, Mr. Reilly, we're trying to determine if there's anything wrong with _you_," she replied snappishly, but not unkindly. Although until recently, she had spent considerably more time studying microbiology than working as a nurse, she had already got enough experience in dealing with overly talkative patients. "Now, lie perfectly still – and stay silent."

He pouted, but complied watching her, as she was watching the monitors and making notes on her pad. She frowned slightly, checked the panel and looked at him strictly.

"Close your eyes," she said.

"Why?" he asked immediately. "It's not necessary for the test."

"It is in your case. We are trying to get an average reading, but when you look at me, your pulse is accelerating, as is your respiration, as is-"

"Fine, I'll close them," he cut her off quickly. "I'm being insulted here."

Christine smiled, returning her attention back to the panel.

"We're done," she announced in a couple of minutes. "You can open your eyes now."

He tried to maintain his pouting expression, but was unable to resist her mildly wicked smile, and grinned back.

"Why do you think Mr. Spock is mean?" she asked curiously, as he sat up on the table and reached for his tunic.

"Let's see," he said with mock consideration. "He never smiles. He doesn't joke. He's always talking about duty. He's adamant about anything concerning ship's business. I don't think even the Captain is as strict as him, and he's only _Acting_ First Officer."

"Why is he only acting?"

Reilly shrugged and lowered his voice. "They say he was the one who convinced the Captain to kill our exec. They didn't get along that well, everyone knew that."

Christine's eyes widened in alarm. "Surely, that can't be true."

"I'm telling you, I was there when Captain Kirk said 'We're gonna assume Mr. Spock's plan and maroon Commander Mitchell on Delta Vega.' And they did," Reilly nodded significantly, his voice falling to a bare whisper. "Next thing we know, Mr. Spock is beaming down with a phaser rifle."

"No," Christine breathed out in shock.

"Yes, me dear lady," Reilly nodded again, apparently happy with the impression he was making. "And then he beams back as if nothing had happened, but Lieutenant Kelso's dead, and the Captain's missing. And then we got this 'died in the line of his duty' entry in the Captain's log. Nice move, eh?"

"But it was the Captain, who..."

Reilly looked at her pityingly. "But of course, sweetheart. Mr. Spock didn't kill – he organized the murder. And they say he won't stop with one. Captain Kirk probably knows it, too. That's why he doesn't promote him. He's hoping to maybe feel safer with a new exec."

Christine looked at him, puzzled and worried. "This is terrible," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "I can't imagine anyone in Starfleet to be so evil. And Mr. Spock is a Vulcan. They can't murder or plan to murder anyone – they're pacifists."

Reilly grinned smugly, as if she'd just asked him for the sweetest piece he'd left for dessert.

"Ah, but he's not entirely Vulcan, Miss," he said, watching with satisfaction her face turning pale at the news. "He's half human. Do you know any other race that is quite so cunning and ambitious?"

She stared at him, confused and apprehensive, a data pad forgotten in her hand.

"Thanks for the check up," he said, stepping out of the doors. Once in the corridor, he started to whistle happily, positively pleased with himself.

For several seconds after he left, Christine stood still, contemplating the horrible story she had just heard. She realized, of course, that everything Reilly had said must be screened through several filters before being taken into account, but still... What if it was true? Could such dark intrigues really be happening on the Starfleet's finest vessel?

As the day progressed, and she continued to examine the crew, she found it difficult to redirect her thoughts from the thrilling tale. When finally she saw a familiar name on her list, she decided to go for it.

"Is anything wrong, Christine?" Nyota Uhura asked her concerned. "You seem a little preoccupied."

They met some years ago when Uhura was undergoing a field medical course. It was the time when she couldn't settle for one area of service, and was trying different fields in order to find a match. There hadn't been enough time for them to become close friends, but they both felt pleased to be stationed on the same ship now.

"To tell you the truth, I am," Christine admitted, putting her pad down and leaning uncomfortably on the biobed. "Someone told me that rumor..."

She quickly retold Uhura the unbelievable story. The Communications Officer listened to her frowning deeper and deeper. The expression on her face made Christine extremely nervous, she almost regretted speaking up.

"It was Stiles, who told you that, wasn't it?" Uhura asked as soon as the Nurse finished. "Third time this week."

"Actually it wasn't Lieutenant Stiles," Christine said cautiously.

"Kevin Reilly, then?"

The Nurse nodded miserably.

"Damn!" Uhura cursed. "I'm gonna report him. This is starting to get out of control."

"Reporting people for repeating rumors?" Christine raised her eyebrows. "What, are you moral officer?"

"I could be," Uhura promised darkly. "This insanity has to stop."

"Are you saying it's not true then?" the Nurse asked hopefully.

"That Mr. Spock had organized one murder and is planning another in order to get himself a captaincy?" Uhura asked incredulously, shaking her head in exasperation. "Honestly, you new people will believe anything. Of course, it isn't true. Do you believe we have a _cosa nostra_ here? What were you possibly thinking?"

"I don't know Mr. Spock that well," Christine said defensively, turning mildly red. "With him being half-human..."

"Oh my God," Uhura rolled her eyes. "Listen, Chris, this is ridiculous. You want to know why those two are spreading these rumors? Kevin Reilly is too much an Irishman not to enjoy a fancy tale, though it's about time he'd changed the subject. As for Stiles, the man is a bigot. Besides, he can't forgive Mr. Spock for not being as willing to overlook his negligence at his station as Gary Mitchell had been. I've had it with both of them, I'm gonna report them as soon as the Captain's back. Double murder, really..."

She walked out of Sick Bay, muttering in annoyance, and leaving Christine alone to deal with the growing embarrassment.

--

Spock was walking along the corridor of the _Enterprise_ in his usual efficient, yet dignified pace. Various crewmen he met nodded to him with a polite 'Mr. Spock' or 'Commander' as they passed. This emphasized respect they showed him was somewhat new to him, it was taking some time to get used to. All they saw in him when they looked upon him was another senior officer, one of the four most senior officers on the ship. The idea that they respected his rank or position before they even stopped to think about him as a person or a specialist was still very alien to him. As a Vulcan, he found the chain of command system and the attitude it implied extremely logical. But after so many years of being on equal footing with most of the ship's personnel, he found it hard to adjust to the fact that nobody saw him just as 'Spock' anymore. After his promotion, and especially after a major crew rotation, there was not a lot left of those, who worked with him closely for many years. In fact, it was eerie how lonely one could feel in the well known surroundings.

Gone was Dr. Piper, whose strict scrupulous attention made him feel part of the crew more than anything else. Spock could not acknowledge it consciously, but he missed the Doctor's presence, just as he had missed that of Number One and Captain Pike. The changes were logical, moreover, they were inevitable. He was a Vulcan, he was not supposed to feel any sadness at such natural and expected development. However, for some reason, he found it harder to suppress the emotions in this particular case, than ever before.

Then, there were Lieutenant Kelso and Commander Mitchell. Spock had had an even working relationship with Kelso. He respected his technical knowledge and sympathized with his light ever disposition. As for Gary Mitchell... The categories of liking and disliking anyone were so surely beyond any logic that Spock dared not explore them. He was, however, a very honest person. He regretted the man's death whole heartedly. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, he could not experience the feeling of loss – one of the only emotional states recognized on Vulcan – on the Commander's account.

It was immoral of him, and what was even worse, it was he, Spock, who had been the first one to see that Gary Mitchell must die. Back then, in the chaos of the rapidly progressing crisis, he acted in the only way his logic dictated. He was confident he was doing the right thing. He was still fairly certain they had no other choice. But it didn't make him less guilty.

The situation was worse ever still, as Gary Mitchell was the Captain's personal friend. Spock would never forget the way Kirk looked at him when he said for the first time that their First Officer had become an ultimate threat. He knew it should not have had any impact on him, yet he wasn't blind enough not to admit that it did. He felt he lost something that day, something exceptionally important. Something he didn't know he longed to have and now he was never getting back. And at times, in the moments of peak personal honesty, he wished desperately for some friendly presence to guide him through the darkening reality back to light.

"Mr. Spock to the Bridge, please," the ship wide page echoed in the corridor. Uhura's voice was tense. "Mr. Spock, please, acknowledge."

Stepping to the closest wall com panel, he answered. "Spock here."

"Mr. Spock, we need you up here," Uhura said, apprehension ringing in her voice. "It's urgent."

He considered asking on further, then realized she would have told him more if she thought it was all right to say on the open channel.

"I am on my way. Spock out."

He quickened his pace, walking to the nearest turbolift. He was alone in the cabin, wondering what might have happened that required his personal attention and why Uhura's voice sounded so wary. They were currently orbiting Kroulen, a humanoid world with a mostly peaceful population at an early warp stage of their development. The Federation had a trade agreement with the planet's government and a class 2 starbase facility in orbit. The _Enterprise_ was scheduled to undergo some upgrades, and they were presently in the middle of the process, with a week worth of work still to go. Three thirds of the crew were on the surface on shore leave, using a rare opportunity to take a break from seeing the same faces, however friendly. Spock and Scott were the only senior officers, who stayed. Scotty was overseeing the upgrades and Spock declined to go on leave as well, though nobody could truly understand his reasons. Mr. Scott, however, was grateful. With Spock in charge of the ship, he could concentrate fully on his beloved engines and other systems without any distractions.

"Report," Spock nodded to Uhura as he entered the Bridge.

She turned to him, looking if anything irritated.

"Mr. Spock, I have a Mr. Batim here, Federation Commissioner to the Misty Worlds. He insists on speaking to the Captain."

Spock's eyebrow went up slightly, indicating the precise measure of surprise, suitable for a Vulcan. The Misty Worlds were twenty light years away.

"Did he say what he wishes to speak about, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir. He's very uncooperative," Uhura practically hissed.

"I see." He stepped down to the command area. "On screen."

At this very moment, Mr. Batim could very well be the perfect illustration of a very annoyed man.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" He exclaimed without so much as a 'hello.' "Will I finally see your Captain today or was the whole idea a waste of time?"

"My apologies, Commissioner, the Captain is unavailable right now," Spock said calmly.

"Well, what about the First Officer? Can he hear me out, at least? I'm not that picky after being on hold for the better part of the day."

"I am sorry this is not possible, either. I am afraid you will have to deal with me."

"And who the hell are you?"

"Spock, Science Officer."

"Science!" Batim laughed out rather bitterly. "Yeah, that's precisely what we need, damn it!"

Spock allowed a tiny frown to appear on his forehead.

"Commissioner, how can we be of assistance?"

"Of assistance? You can be of assistance by getting your captain here as soon as possible. We have a diplomatic and humanitarian disaster in progress, we need some 'big head' to make these people listen. Yours is the nearest ship, hell, yours is the only ship in the vicinity."

"What kind of disaster are we talking about?"

"I will explain that to your captain! I have nothing to say to some minor adjutant!"

Uhura exchanged a worried glance with Lieutenant Quaint, science officer on duty, but Spock appeared unperturbed.

"Commissioner, you do not seem to have an adequate grasp of the situation," he informed him calmly. "If you do not explain your case to me, you will not be able to discuss it with the Captain."

"I will file a complaint about all this! I'll make you personally responsible-"

"That is your right," Spock cut him off in his unwavering tone. "Now, if you will please get to the point?"

Five minutes later he was making arrangements to beam down. It was imperative that he'd find the Captain. Mr. Batim, as it appeared, had a serious cause for impatience.

Spock nodded to the Chief Engineer, who had been paged to meet him in the Transporter Room. Mr. Scott looked rather dismayed upon being snatched out of whatever enchanting upgrades he had been running on his systems. Seeing Spock's face, however, he forgot about it at once.

"Mr. Scott, do you have the Captain's coordinates?"

"Aye, sir," Scott nodded, somewhat reserved. "But ye know his orders – not to be disturbed unless–"

"Unless it was a natural disaster," Spock finished the quote smoothly. "I am afraid, we have just moved to that point."

"Oh," Scotty breathed out, instantly worried. "Is the ship...?"

"It is not us, Mr. Scott," Spock assured him. "But it is, nevertheless, urgent. Beam me down to his location."

"Aye, sir. I'm all set."

Spock stepped onto the pad and nodded. "Energize."

--

He materialized on the planet's side, which was currently in the night zone. The surroundings looked rather gloomy. There were hardly any lights in the street. The houses looked shabby and deserted. Cold wind was making him shiver; the air was damp and heavy, carrying some unidentifiable but certainly not pleasant scents. Not a place most humans would choose to spend their shore leave in. Not, if they weren't in the same frame of mind as James T. Kirk, that was. Indeed, Spock reflected with an upsurge of bitter understanding. Very appropriate.

The only lit window belonged to a local bar, and the Vulcan had no doubts he would find his Captain inside. Here, in this dark corner, away from his ship, where no one of his crew could see him, he could allow himself to drift into the devastating ocean of guilt and grief.

Spock sighed, composing himself before the conversation. He admitted he was being apprehensive. His relationship with Jim Kirk was as far from being friendly at the moment as ever, and what was even worse, he had no one else to blame for this most unpleasant development, but himself.

He remembered vividly how this most unfortunate development was set into motion.

It was at the end of the debriefing session that occurred right after the Captain had beamed back from the mining colony, witnessing the death of his friend. Decks from Two to Six were shut down for Life Support maintenance that Mr. Scott had insisted on, so the meeting took place in the rearranged Observation Deck.

For the first time, Spock had the opportunity to observe Jim Kirk upon losing someone especially dear to him. He appeared grave, snappish, closed – the evident outcome of the immense anger he was trying to suppress. This death was so unfair. Then, when was it ever anything else? Spock realized that he had been concentrating on the Captain instead of the briefing only when he heard Kirk say:

"I want all the updates from the Department Heads to be submitted by 1200 tomorrow. Report to Mr. Spock." There was a general murmur of 'Aye, sir' and Kirk added briskly, "Dismissed."

Spock watched his colleagues leave, without being able to move himself. The Captain turned his back on the doors, staring into the blackness of the eternal night outside the ship. The stars seemed distant and cruelly cold that evening. Moving soundlessly in his usual catlike manner, Spock rose to his feet somewhat warily, and came close to where Kirk was sitting.

"Captain," the Science Officer called tentatively, making Kirk flinch in surprise.

"Mr. Spock," he looked at him, frowning. "What are you still doing here?"

"Captain, I did not mean to intrude, but there is a minor misunderstanding I believe we should correct."

"Oh?" The Captain turned to face him. "What's that?"

"You indicated that the Department Heads should report their findings to me."

"So?"

"Senior officers should only report to the captain or first officer."

"So?" Kirk repeated tensely, his eyes narrowing. "What are you getting at, Spock?"

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow as if to say that it would be obvious.

"I am in neither of those positions, sir."

Kirk stared at him silently for an indefinite moment, and Spock got a distinct impression the Captain wasn't really seeing him. Finally, his face softened slightly, and he spoke in a more quiet tone.

"Spock, I'm sorry, I know we're supposed to have had a talk about that, but... it wasn't the easiest time for me exactly. Some things just got slipped. Your assuming the first officer position seemed so–" he smiled weakly, "_logical_ to me, I forgot to make an announcement. I'm sure everybody understood."

Spock's face was looking more and more forbidding by the second.

"Captain, I do not believe it is wise."

Kirk frowned at him again. "You don't believe what is wise?"

"My taking this position."

"Spock," Kirk's voice became impatient. "You've been third-in-command and now we don't have a second. How wise does it need to be?"

"It is more complicated than that. You are forgetting the circumstances due to which we lost our First Officer."

"Forgetting, Mr. Spock? Hardly. But I still don't see what you're getting at."

"Captain, I was the one who recommended eliminating the threat by -"

"By killing Gary. There's nothing wrong with my memory, Mr. Spock. Well, you were right, weren't you? You're always right."

"If you elevate me to the first officer's position after this, you might send the wrong message to the crew. That you commend radical solutions."

Slowly, Kirk stood up, facing the Vulcan, and the expression in his eyes was frightening.

"Mr. Spock, tell me you haven't just compared my command style to that of some Klingon commander," he said with cold fury.

"I do not believe I have, Captain," Spock replied quietly, refusing to step back. "But I stand by what I previously said. I do not consider such measure to be appropriate. Had you not insisted on my promotion three months ago we would not be even discussing this now."

"Don't be so sure, Mr. Spock," Kirk wasn't about to give up, either. "In that case I'd have done what any good starship captain would have done – grant you a field promotion. Heaven's name, Spock," he leaned back slightly, and closed his eyes tiredly for a moment. "What are we even talking about? I need an executive officer, I'm not supposed to run the damn ship alone. You're the next in line and you're qualified – so what the devil is the matter?"

"Captain, I submit that I am not qualified," Spock said stubbornly. "I have very little command experience."

"That's crap, Spock, and you know it! I've been the captain of this ship for about nine months now, do you think it's not enough time to find out which department is being run the most smoothly? Do you even know that your staff considers themselves to be the luckiest on board because of the way you treat personnel you're in charge of?"

"Delegating scientific tasks according to personal skills and abilities, and being in charge of 430 crewmembers is hardly the same thing, sir."

"You're damn right, there's a hell more work to be done, and I just can't believe you're afraid of it."

"I am not."

"Then what the hell is this all about? If you don't want to be the first officer, I want to know why. The truth, Spock."

"I am more suited for scientific duties."

"You can be second-in-command without yielding this position."

Spock felt something frighteningly close to desperation. How could he explain what was on his mind, or rather in his heart, if he couldn't make heads or tails of it himself? It was wrong for him to take over for Gary Mitchell, after he was the one responsible for his death. He knew he was not being logical. But it was just – _wrong_.

"Captain, it is my sincere belief that some other officer would serve you better in this capacity."

"So this is personal, after all," Kirk said, taking a few steps back and tilting his head slightly. "It's not that you don't want to be _a_ first officer, it's that you don't want to be _my_ first officer. Tell me – am I too illogical for your taste, Mr. Spock? I understand you never thought highly of me in particular, and of humans in general, but what was it that lost me your tolerance at the very least? Was I perhaps too slow in agreeing to kill my best friend? Too negligent in discharging emotions? Too stupidly attached to the man I once knew rather than willing to destroy what he'd become?"

His voice was going higher and higher with each word, as he threw one accusation after another at the Vulcan, who was so stunned he didn't even bother to hide it.

"Captain, I never-"

"Save it, Mr. Spock!" Kirk cut him off, angry beyond himself. "If there's one thing I wouldn't ever do, it's begging you. Maybe you're right, maybe thinking you and I would make a good command team was a mistake. At least, Gary spoke his mind openly without putting my intelligence at test to see if I can get to the true meaning."

Spock didn't know what to say. He didn't know where to even begin explaining himself, much less how to do it. Something far from logic told him clearly Kirk wouldn't listen to him now. The human was in the dark place and without wishing for it, he pushed him even further into this darkness. His lack of confidence, or this unexplainable fluke of conscience, or whatever it was that made him feel the way he felt resulted in him inflicting even more pain to his Captain, who was already suffering greatly. If only somebody told him how to undo any of this...

"You will assume this position temporarily," Kirk's voice was stern. Spock knew he was hearing an order. "Until a new executive officer arrives. Whether you like it or not, you're the only one I have at the moment. You will have to do."

"I shall do my best, Captain," Spock said quietly.

"I expect nothing less, Commander. Dismissed."

Spock was left with no choice but to comply.

The next day, the Captain unexpectedly came to his cabin before the Alpha shift began. In several well chosen and all too formal words, he apologized for his outburst the previous evening.

"Your reasons for not wanting the position are none of my business," he said in a cold dead voice Spock had never heard before. "However, I'd be really grateful if you fill in for as long as it takes to find someone."

"Of course, Captain. Your trust honors me," Spock replied honestly, trying to rectify some of the damage he had done.

Kirk acted as if he didn't hear anything but a simple 'yes.'

"Good. I will be honest with you, Mr. Spock, my expectations of the candidate are reasonably high. You might get stuck with this position for a while."

"I shall endeavor to maintain the required level of efficiency."

Kirk's lips twitched as if a smile was about to break through, but he steeled himself instantly.

"I have every confidence that you will," he said simply. "Thank you."

He left before Spock could say another word.

Ever since the conversation, their relationship changed. Kirk was polite as usual, overly correct towards him and always ready to listen to his advice or opinion. But he was also very distant, very detached on a personal level. They saw a lot of each other during the working hours. Being Acting First Officer, Spock, by definition, was supposed to be the captain's right hand. But, since the memorable journey through the Barrier, they had never once played chess or discussed anything that was not related to ship's business.

Spock found this change to be extremely disquieting. To his own growing surprise, he realized he missed the friendly openness of their former association. It also brought him a certain measure of discomfort to know that he was the one to blame for this most unpleasant development.

He did not forget the angry words Kirk had thrown at him at the Observation Deck. His fault was devastatingly deep, behavior inexcusable, if he made it possible for the Captain to think those things to be anywhere near the truth. Yet, he did not discover a way to clarify the issue. And he'd been avoiding asking himself why the Captain's opinion of him became so important that he'd spent countless hours searching for a way to change it back.

Seeing no logic in procrastinating, Spock pushed the heavy wooden door and entered. The interior was not that much different than the exterior, save probably, for the lack of chilling breeze.

He spotted the Captain immediately. Kirk was sitting with Doctor McCoy at the table in the far corner. Several people glanced up as the doors opened, but he was not one of them. McCoy noticed Spock, however, and muttered, "No peace in the galaxy," under his breath, clearly not meaning for Spock to hear him. Kirk merely took a sip from his glass.

Slowly, he approached the table, ignoring McCoy's scrutiny and staring at the Captain instead to no effect.

"What brings you here, Mr. Spock?" McCoy asked, scowling at him. "I thought the Captain's orders were pretty clear."

"I apologize for the intrusion," Spock said quietly, continuously directing all of his attention at Kirk. "But there is an urgent matter requiring the Captain's attention."

No answer. Not a very promising start.

"Well, sit down, would you?" McCoy hissed at him annoyed. "You're making us all look like idiots."

Hesitantly, Spock complied, careful not to disturb the Captain's personal space. Realizing that Kirk wasn't about to make an acknowledgement of his presence, Spock began to talk softly.

"We have been contacted by the Federation Commissioner to the Misty Worlds. There is a public health crisis on the second planet, but the government is refusing to accept our help. Hundreds of people die every day. The _Enterprise_ is the only ship in the vicinity. Commissioner Batim feels our interference is vital for the salvation of this world."

"What's the nature of their crisis?" McCoy asked sharply. "Epidemic of some sort?"

"Affirmative," Spock turned to look at the Doctor. "They have also requested a medical officer to be present at the negotiations to evaluate the situation."

"What's the hold up? Take the _Enterprise_ and go."

These were the first words spoken by Kirk since Spock had entered, and he said it without sparing him so much as a glance. Spock stiffened at his lifeless tone, feeling a strange sensation somewhere in the middle of his chest.

"Captain," he started tentatively. "The _Enterprise_ is scheduled to perform additional charting of the region. And the Commissioner was not requesting the ship's presence, only yours."

"Then take a shuttlecraft and go. I'm sure whatever the hell he wants, you can handle it."

Spock frowned, realizing he was concerned for a reason.

"May I point out that the goal of this appearance is not only to present a course of argument, but also to make an impression of authority?"

Kirk fixed him with a heavy stare.

"I'm in no condition to show the flag, Mr. Spock. Yours will have to do."

"Damn it, Jim, listen to him," McCoy blurted out earnestly. "They need _you_, not Spock."

The Captain's gaze drifted to him, softening by mere bit.

"From what I heard they need a doctor. So I suggest you two get into a shuttle and underway."

"Captain-"

"I'm on leave, Mr. Spock."

"Jim-"

"You have your orders, Bones. Both of you."

Spock's frown deepened considerably, the intensity of his gaze matched that of his Captain.

"If I may ask, sir, what will you be doing in the meantime?"

"You may ask, but I'm under no obligation to answer you."

"True. However, you may choose to do so."

Kirk tilted up his head, mean challenge playing in his eyes.

"And why would I want to do that?"

The most plain and honest answer sprang to his mind instantly, but Spock suppressed the thought before it even made to his consciousness. It was all too human.

"As Acting First Officer I am responsible for your safety, Captain," he stated coolly instead.

"Your devotion to duty is admirable, Commander. But my off-duty plans are none of your business."

Spock knew he was right, and, without the regulations to hide behind, he didn't have a lot of options. Suddenly, the Doctor decided to give him one. It was not the one he'd prefer, but McCoy never bothered to ask for his opinion.

"He's just concerned about you, Jim," he said softly, making Spock flinch, as the Doctor named the very reason he chose to ignore. "And frankly, so am I."

Kirk raised his eyebrows in obvious bewilderment.

"Concerned?" he glanced at the Vulcan's impassionate face demonstratively. "I don't think so, Bones. You don't know Mr. Spock here well enough yet. He had completely discharged any feelings. He doesn't get concerned about anyone, do you, Mr. Spock?"

Spock felt trapped. He knew what this was about. Gary Mitchell. The Captain couldn't forgive him for what had happened.

"I am what I am, Captain," he said quietly. "I cannot change that."

"See, Bones? You've gotta be more careful with words around Mr. Spock," the Captain's tone was infiltrated with disdain. "No, don't apologize. Vulcans find apologies illogical."

"I wasn't going to," McCoy's eyes narrowed, the level of his anger rising up to match the Captain's fast. "Jim, what the hell are you doing? You have a duty to perform."

"I'm delegating responsibility. And you are wasting time."

"You're delegating responsibility to the only person who can look after you? That sure is smart!"

"I don't need a babysitter, Bones. I'm sending you where you're most needed. I can manage here without a drinking companion, I assure you."

"Jim, that's not-"

"Doctor, this discussion is over. You have your orders."

"But-"

"Mr. Spock, please escort Doctor McCoy to the ship. You're both leaving as soon as the shuttle is ready."

McCoy glared at him helplessly. A moment later, Spock stood up, looking at him expectantly.

"Doctor?"

McCoy did rise up then, still watching his friend anxiously.

"Jim, you're making a mistake. It's not a good time to be alone."

Kirk looked up at him and smiled suddenly. Something about that wry unnatural smile made the Doctor shiver.

"Haven't you heard, Doctor? The captain's always alone. When he thinks he's not," his gaze drifted to Spock, "there are always those who remind him of it."

The Vulcan felt a sudden shortage of air and tried to conceal his difficulty with tremendous effort.

"If you will excuse me, Captain," he managed to say, his voice hoarse and dry. "I need to take care of the mission."

Unable to even wait for a dismissal, he turned and marched rigidly to the doors. Behind him, he heard Kirk saying, "He knows nothing but duty, Bones. Sometimes, you should be more like him," his voice fell down considerably, as he whispered more to himself than to McCoy. "Sometimes, I wish I was."


	2. Chapter 2 In Transit

**Chapter 2.**

**In Transit****.**

"Where in blazes is he?"

Christine Chapel flinched at the angry demand, despite the fact that it was the third time McCoy asked the question. The _Enterprise's_ Chief Medical Officer was pacing nervously along the hangar deck, paying no attention to the Head Nurse and muttering darkly.

"Doctor, I'm sure it will only take a few more moments. Mr. Spock is said to be never late."

"Yeah?" McCoy whirled at her angrily. "Then why am I here and he's not? We were supposed to depart twenty minutes ago!"

Christine bit her lip, scolding herself mutely for trying to reason with him. She ought to have known better. The next second, she sighed with relief as the doors swooshed open and Mr. Spock walked in, accompanied by Mr. Scott and Lieutenant Quaint, who, after the memorable events on Maung, had often acted in capacity of Spock's science department deputy.

"... and I am certain Ms. Mathewson will recognize the necessity to shorten her time off," Spock was saying to the grim looking Scotty.

"I'm no so sure about that," the Engineer muttered, frowning.

Spock stopped abruptly and turned to face him. "Mr. Scott, more than a hundred people die every day on Calliope. I cannot afford the luxury of gaining approval of everyone aboard. Time is of an essence."

"Aye," Scott looked if possible even more frustrated.

"Speaking of time, Spock," McCoy closed in on them, like an angry goose. "The take off was scheduled for 1600. It's 16:24 now. Have you forgotten to set the alarm or something?"

Spock glanced at him briefly, and this impassive stare was the only reaction the Doctor received for his tirade.

"Doctor McCoy, I am gratified that you are ready to leave," the Vulcan stated blankly. "Please, get in the shuttle. I shall join you momentarily."

"Like hell I will," McCoy snapped, fuming. "After you."

Spock returned his attention to the Chief Engineer as if there had been no interruption.

"We will be out of communication range for twenty six point three hours. Please, make sure you have a report on the ship's status ready by that time. You are in command until Captain Kirk returns."

"Aye, sir."

"Scotty," McCoy stepped forward, looking at him intently. "Check on Jim every now and then, would you? I'm a little worried."

Scott looked warily at the Science Officer. Spock returned his gaze steadily.

"You will carry out my orders regarding the Captain, Mr. Scott," he said calmly. "Do not disturb him, unless absolutely necessary."

"Now wait just one damn minute, Mr. Spock! You can't leave Jim all alone there, you, unfeeling green-blooded fish!"

Christine covered her mouth quickly with her hand, and looked at the Vulcan frightened. She didn't know what to expect of him. Reilly's tales, however improbable, made nothing to alleviate her wariness. And most certainly, Mr. Spock couldn't ignore McCoy's evident lack of respect – no senior officer would.

Spock, however, appeared absolutely serene. He merely said, "Doctor, please, get in the shuttle. The Captain had expressed his wishes most transparently. His rest is not to be disrupted by unwelcome intrusions." For some reason, saying this, he looked straight at Lieutenant Quaint, who nodded at him almost imperceptibly. The silent exchange was missed completely by the enraged Doctor. He snatched the bag with medical equipment Christine was holding for him and disappeared into the shuttle, cursing loudly.

Christine trembled slightly as the expressionless dark eyes turned upon her, carefully measuring her up like she was some lab sample in need of further analysis. She felt as if she were in a courtroom, not knowing what her crime was exactly, but realizing there was no escape.

"Have a safe flight, Mr. Spock," Jessica Quaint said, breaking the disturbing impression. Her face was stricken, she sounded worried and deadly serious. "I hope you'll be able to make these people reconsider."

Spock's eyebrow furrowed, but he clearly decided to let the illogical notion pass, and simply nodded in acknowledgement.

"The ship is yours, Mr. Scott," he said, picking up his small travel bag. Then, seeing a highly apprehensive look upon the Engineer's face, he added. "There is no cause for concern. As long as everything goes according to schedule."

"Aye," Scotty nodded miserably. It was the first time he was left in command for more than a shift's time. He wasn't exactly scared, but certain insects were scrabbling most annoyingly in his stomach. When did anything go according to schedule on the _Enterprise_, after all?

Without another word, Spock disappeared into the shuttle hitting the closing panel on his way. The three remaining humans looked uneasily at one another.

"Anyone want a bet how many _Enterprise_ officers reach Calliope?" Christine said suddenly, surprising herself.

Scott and Quaint stared at her. After a while, the Engineer chuckled.

"Ye're the new Head Nurse, aren't ye, lassie? It's good to have someone with a sense of humor down there."

"Well, my money is on Mr. Spock," Jessica snorted. "He's used to human irrationality on a much larger scale than one man's whims."

"Oh, I don't know," Christine said skeptically. "If that one man is Doctor McCoy, I wouldn't call yet."

--

Inside the shuttle, McCoy could barely calm himself down. He realized he wasn't making it easy for anyone, including himself, but after Jim had told him about Spock's unbelievably insensitive behavior, he couldn't help but feel angry with the Science Officer. He tried to convince himself that Spock was an alien, and there was, therefore, no point in getting mad at him, but this wonderfully reasonable notion had never worked out for some reason. Somehow, he couldn't quite believe his own thoughts. He tried as best he could to sooth his temper.

"I hope you can fly this thing," was all McCoy said when Spock took his seat at the navigational console and started the launching sequence. He glanced at the Doctor briefly.

"Unquestionably."

They were cleared for departure in some twenty seconds, guided through the process by Sulu's distant voice. As the hangar doors opened, Spock heard a distinctive gasp from behind, but didn't turn around, his attention focused on the delicate task of navigating the shuttle through the gates. Once outside, he input the precalculated course to Calliope and engaged autopilot mode. It was not totally reliable, but at least it gave him the opportunity to have his hands free for some time. He turned to face his colleague.

"I am curious, Doctor," he admitted, tilting his head slightly. "I have heard that you are not particularly fond of transporters."

"Why should anyone be fond of having their bodies dismantled at the subatomic level, with the possibility of their atoms being scattered throughout the galaxy?" McCoy retorted.

"Yet now you seem to be apprehensive of a shuttle flight. Is there any means of transportation that do not invoke this anxious response in you?"

"If anything invokes an anxious response it's not the shuttle, it's having you for a pilot."

"Indeed?" Spock's eyebrows shot up in amazement. "But I can assure you I am most qualified to-"

"Oh my God! How many days did you say it would take us to reach Calliope?"

"Approximately two days five hours and thirty three minutes."

McCoy groaned. This was going to be an unbearable siesta.

"I do, however, have the means to shorten the time passage."

"Oh?"

"You can study the medical data that was transferred from Calliope regarding the disease."

McCoy sat up a little straighter.

"They sent something in advance?"

"Affirmative."

"Then why on earth am I only hearing about this now? It didn't occur to you that I might want to study this _before_ I decided to pack the whole lab with me?"

"The data transfer was complete only minutes before the take off."

"The _scheduled_ take off, you mean. I've been waiting for you for twenty minutes – where the hell have you been?"

"Doctor, there were a lot of things I needed to take care of before we left. It took more time than I anticipated."

"And they say you foresee everything," McCoy noted tartly. "You might at least have taken the courtesy to tell me you were late."

Spock's eyebrow rose up a bit. "If I were to do that, Doctor, the delay would have been prolonged considerably by your overemotional reaction to the news that would undoubtedly have occurred."

"Overemotional reaction - _to a courtesy call_?"

"According to my observations, there are no logical patterns which lead to your outbursts."

McCoy regarded him, his eyes narrowing in anger.

"My outbursts are normal human reactions to the insanity of your damn logical gibberish. But that doesn't quite answer my question, does it, Mr. Spock? Why were you late? According to the Captain, one can check their chronometer by you."

"If that is indeed what Captain Kirk had said, he was clearly exaggerating."

"And you clearly don't want to give me a straight answer. Whatever happened to that notorious Vulcan honesty of yours?"

Spock was by no means willing to explain the true reason of him showing up late. The truth was he had to give some very special orders to a few people, but he had no intention of sharing this information. If only he could, he would have gladly wiped the action from his own memory.

"Doctor, you seem to be concentrating obsessively on one highly irrelevant matter," he noted, sounding mildly tired. "If you would attack the data sent by the Calliopeans with only a half of that admirable persistence, I am sure, their chances of coming through this health crisis would increase immeasurably."

"If you simply answered the question in the first place, instead of showing this _admirable_ obstinacy, I wouldn't have to be persistent," McCoy retorted acidly. "You're impossible to have a conversation with, Spock."

"You are proving this wrong right now."

For a moment, McCoy watched him with a mixture of anger and curiosity in his eyes.

"You don't like me very much, do you, Mr. Spock?" he asked tentatively.

The Vulcan sighed in exasperation, for some reason not bothering to suppress this particular reaction.

"Doctor, I am not human like yourself. I do not like or dislike anyone, for these are the categories of emotion. I do not experience them."

"Are you saying you don't feel _anything_ at all?"

"That is not correct. The word 'feel' applies to physical sensations as well. I am, of course, capable of experiencing physical conditions."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Spock," the Doctor said with feigned sympathy. "This must be damn inconvenient. I don't know where you find the spirit to go on."

Spock's eyebrow went up again as he considered the dubious statement. Finally realizing it was not worthy of a reply, he said simply. "I am transferring the data to your station now."

"Nothing but duty?" McCoy quoted with a hint of disdain. "I wonder if you're even alive."

"I do not-"

"Oh, never mind. Go on, transfer the data. After talking to you, talking to the computer won't make that much difference."

Spock complied without further inquiries. He turned to his own monitor, feeling mild disquiet for some reason, to study the background of the Misty Worlds – everything that the Enterprise's library computer was able to gather. Their voyage could turn out to be much shorter than one could expect.

The Misty Worlds was a collective name for three Class-M planets in the alarming proximity of the Orion border. Calliope, Callinah and Cantalire constituted the Misty Worlds Confederation. The governing body, the Misty Council, was situated on the most populated planet, the Calliope. The people, who inhabited those worlds, were physically very close to humans, though naturally, their cultural development and traditions were quite different. They were rated considerably high on the Richter's scale of cultures. As they have already developed warp technology, the Federation was free to make the first contact.

But what looked like a promising new friendship turned out to be a rather cool relationship of tolerance. The Misty Worlds philosophy was pacifistic to such extent – they made Vulcans look like ultimate aggressors. After studying the Federation history, they decided to limit contact to bare minimum. Not to communicate at all was not civilized or reasonable, according to their own standards. But they most certainly did not encourage the 'negative' influence of aggressive outsiders.

At first sight, it appeared strange that such peaceful society could exist in the neighborhood of one of the most unprincipled and savagely aggressive galactic races, and never be conquered. The mystery was, however, not beyond comprehension. The planets' resources were very limited, just enough to sustain the natives. They did not possess either dilithium, or any other valuable mineral deposits. As the Orions were mostly interested in acquiring new slaves for their performances, hunting down the Calliopeans made no use. Attractive as most of them were, the prisoners killed themselves immediately after their capture. The Orions despised the Calliopeans whole heartedly, however, they were considered to be unworthy of attention. That took care of the outside threat, providing the ideal environment for the Calliopeans and encouraging them in their wish not to be an active part of interstellar society.

Now, however, this policy was evidently causing trouble. Spock mostly skipped the medical data, leaving it to the Doctor. He did, however, look it over in order to get a general impression of the situation. What he saw did not induce him with any sort of optimism.

He spared a cautious glance toward the silent human, who by that time had long been asleep. Curious, Spock thought as he watched for several seconds the Doctor's chest go up and down in a peaceful steady rhythm. Lowering his shields for a moment, while they were in the shuttle bay, he detected sincere and strong anger directed right at him. The anger that had not been present before, along with curiosity, resentment and confusion. For a moment, he speculated about the reason of this sudden change of attitude, but gave up almost instantly, chiding himself for being illogical.

Strange, Spock reflected with a hint of frustration, that after so many years of working with humans side by side and getting along quite well with them, he now felt completely disoriented and lost – to even greater degree than when he'd first entered Starfleet.

--

Nasty, was her first impression of the place. Literary nasty. So dark, and cold, and ugly. Why would anyone want to spend their time here? Right now, though, the most important question was – how she would explain her own presence here. It was hardly credible to say she picked up that spot for the view.

Christine sighed, feeling shivers running down her body in the cutting wind. Damn those orders. They ought to have used some more creative person for this assignment. What was she going to say?

She looked at the gloomy building, hastily rehearsing her speech. Suddenly, her time was cut short as the black wooden door opened, and Captain Kirk appeared in the doorway. Christine gasped involuntarily, and he stared at her in surprise.

"Ms. Chapel?" he asked, demonstrating perfect memory as she only had been aboard for two weeks. "What are you doing here?"

His tone was merely surprised, not suspicious, but she trembled nonetheless.

"I believe there had been some mistake in transportation, sir," her legend instantly forgotten, she said weakly the first thing that came to her mind, looking fixedly at the pavement.

"God, you're freezing," he said, sounding genuinely worried. "Get in here, let's get you something hot to drink."

"Captain, I-"

He made a face at her. "You don't want to make me face McCoy after I lose his Head Nurse to some gruesome flue?"

She smiled automatically. "No, sir."

"Then would you do me the honors and accompany me inside?"

Nervously, she stepped around him and walked in, glancing around without really seeing anything, except maybe for the two Orions, looking her over from head to foot as she passed. Kirk navigated her to a table in the corner quickly, and whispered something to the waiter.

"I'm afraid they don't have mulled wine," he said, sitting down opposite her.

"Tarkelian tea is fine, sir," she said quickly, her embarrassment growing by the second. "You shouldn't have..."

Just as the waiter had put a steaming cup in front of her, the Captain asked casually, "What did you say was wrong with the transporter?"

Christine sighed. Trust Jim Kirk to make a bomb out of a cup of tea.

"Uh, it's not that it's something wrong with it, sir, it's... Well, Mr. Kyle stepped out for a minute and I didn't want to wait, so I-"

"Operated it yourself?"

"Yes, sir. I think I might have put in the coordinates wrong."

"I'd say. You meant to get to the Sunrise Valley?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's some mistake, Nurse. Nothing bad happened, of course, but I still don't feel that comfortable with my people not knowing how to operate a transporter. Don't get me wrong, Ms. Chapel, I know as a nurse you're not obliged to have this knowledge, but I'd rather you've organized to have some training in this. We never know what might happen in space. What if you're the only person we can depend upon?"

He said it all with a smile, but Christine knew he was being serious. She felt her cheeks coloring slightly.

"I understand, sir, you're right, of course."

"Well, I'm for one am glad I was here to meet you."

"If I may ask, Captain, what are you doing here? This place seems pretty gloomy."

He shrugged almost carelessly.

"I had a meeting with some local folks. They chose the site."

"Oh."

"Well, I'll be damned."

Christine turned swiftly towards the door to see a nervously looking Yeoman Rand walking in, almost stumbling at the table where the Orions were sitting. She spotted them at the same moment Kirk noticed her. Her eyes widened at the sight, but there was no place to walk out of it. Hesitantly, she came closer.

"That's some surprise, Yeoman," Kirk greeted her.

"I hope, I'm not interrupting anything, Captain," she said warily, looking from him to Christine.

"Not at all. Nurse Chapel and I were just discussing how we ended up here. She said she was here due to some transporter mistake."

"Really?" Rand sat down, trying to figure out a way to weasel out of it. "The same thing happened to me. Mr. Kyle said there was some malfunction."

"Did he?" Kirk raised his eyebrows, looking from one woman to the other. "Ms. Chapel here indicated Mr. Kyle wasn't there when she beamed down like a couple of minutes ago."

"Uh, that's – that's right, he told me he couldn't get into the Transporter Room."

"How so?"

"Well, apparently, after Ms. Chapel left, something happened to the door mechanism. I met Kyle in the corridor when he was trying to get in, and when he did, he told me he wanted to make a trial on the transporter. I said he could use me if he gets me someplace sunny. Apparently, the malfunction is still there."

"Apparently. What were you doing near the Transporter Room at this hour?"

"Uh, I was – I was coming off duty, sir, going to my quarters."

"From where?"

"The Bio Lab, sir."

"And you went to your quarters – _via_ the Transporter Room? It's like five decks in the opposite direction, Yeoman."

"Well, I, uh, I had to take care of... of the Engineering duty roster – check it with Mr. Scott."

Kirk nodded thoughtfully. "I see."

"If you don't mind my saying, Captain, you look a little pale. I'm guessing you've missed your meal?"

"I'm fine, Yeoman, thank you for asking."

"Maybe you will order something now, sir? This place seems to be... adequate."

"Perhaps later. Right now, I believe we have another guest."

They turned to see Jessica Quaint walk in hesitantly. Kirk waved for her to come over without waiting for her to make her own decision. The Orions were now staring at him with obvious envy.

"Lieutenant."

"Captain," she nodded at him, trying to maintain her composure.

"We seem to be having a number of accidents here. What brings you to this unholy place?"

She glanced briefly at Chapel and Rand, realizing in a second that whatever she might say they had probably said it before.

"I was doing some research, Captain," she stated boldly.

"Research?" Rand repeated with a 'couldn't-you-come-up-with-something-better?' look on her face.

"Yes. On the, uh, transporter coordinates precision measurements."

"Sounds fascinating. Please, have a seat and fill me in."

"Well, there isn't a lot to tell – yet. I've been studying our equipment in order to find out if its performance could be improved."

"That's just – commendable. And did you conduct an experiment?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Kyle kindly agreed to let me do some empirical probing, so here I am. This is the third site I'm visiting."

"And how would you estimate the transporter targeting? Improving?"

"It's too early to tell, sir."

"I see. Maybe we can ask Lieutenant Uhura about that. Over here, Lieutenant," he waved at the Communications Officer, who had just entered the bar.

"Good evening, sir."

"Isn't it charming to have a little reunion like that? Our transporter seems to be going completely crazy – I'm afraid to beam up. It seems to be fixed on this spot, which, according to Mr. Kyle, isn't even on the map. Did you have trouble with it, too?"

"No, sir," she looked over her colleagues swiftly, and explained, "Mr. Kyle informed me he had three crewmen missing, so I came down to check if they were all right."

"Really? How very thoughtful of you, Lieutenant. And you happened to run into Mr. Kyle – how?"

"I didn't. It was Mr. Scott who told me that Mr. Kyle told him."

"Mr. Scott."

"Yes, sir."

"I thought Scotty was to spend his whole time at the docks."

"With Mr. Spock gone, somebody has to watch over the ship."

"Indeed. Well, Lieutenant, your missing crew members seem to be quite fine, wouldn't you say? Have a seat."

She obeyed, trying to look as if nothing weird was going on, and making a good show out of it. Kirk observed their tense faces skeptically.

"Ladies, I'm afraid I must award the first prize to Lieutenant Uhura for being the loftiest story teller. Extraordinary quick thinking, Lieutenant, I'm impressed. Now, can I have the truth, please? Or should we wait for someone else to arrive?"

They exchanged nervous glances, but nobody was bold enough to speak first.

"Maybe, it'll help," he added thoughtfully, "if I tell you that Mr. Kyle is actually on shore leave since yesterday. We've beamed down together. So unless you're all suffering from collective hallucinations, I'd very much enjoy to hear some explanations."

"Well, sir," Uhura started hesitantly. "We were looking for a place to have a Halloween party."

He stared at her, either shocked by her audacity, or amazed at her ingenuity. "Halloween? Isn't that a little – _early_ for that?"

"Yes, sir, but we wouldn't be around for that long, so I thought we could probably have it a little earlier."

"Like five months before the actual date?"

"Uh, well... This place is so scary, it would be a shame to miss the opportunity, Captain!"

"I see. And how did you know that this place is 'so scary'?"

"It's very much like Mr. Spock said it was."

This time, Kirk practically gaped at her, making her blush deeply.

"_Spock_ – described this place as – _scary_?" he asked in pure astonishment.

"Uh, not exactly, sir," Quaint came to Uhura's rescue. "He actually said, 'adequately dark,' to be precise."

"Really?" Kirk turned to her. "You mean to tell me that Mr. Spock talked to you – to all of you – about _a party_?"

As Spock was notorious for disappearing from any ship's recreation event as soon as was _humanly_ polite, it was hard to imagine him looking forward another social gathering. Rand seemed to understand it too, for she rushed ahead, trying to rectify the faux pas.

"Actually, Doctor McCoy described this place to me."

"I asked him about it too, sir," Christine added with a nod. "He said we should take a look for ourselves."

Kirk looked from one anguished face to another; the ridiculousness of the situation becoming more and more apparent by the second. He shook his head, fighting a grin.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't put it past McCoy to send you here," he said. "But I couldn't imagine Spock being equally... concerned. Or reduced to the same methods. Honestly," he lost his battle completely, and started to laugh, "they didn't leave you some – some kind of schedule? You know, told you to take turns?"

"Captain..." Uhura watched him with mild apprehension, though his laughter was quite infectious.

"Relax, Lieutenant," he managed, still grinning. "When are you due to report?"

"In two hours," Quaint admitted miserably. Spock specifically told her to be discreet.

"Well, you can tell them I'm fine," Kirk shook his head in exasperation. "And that I'll get them for it, once they're back. Now, if you will excuse me," he stood up, "I was about to return to the ship. Oh, and Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir?" Uhura looked up at him warily.

"I think it's best if we'd celebrate Halloween on time, don't you agree?"

She flushed an even deeper shade of red. "Yes, sir."

"Still," he admitted seriously, "very quick thinking."

He was almost at the door, still grinning broadly, when he heard a low humming – strange, but somehow familiar. He turned around barely in time to see his four crewmen disappear in an alien transporter beam accompanied by the two Orions, whom he spotted earlier.

"Damn," he muttered, searching for his communicator feverishly.

Somehow, he could not believe this last eventuality was part of either Spock's or McCoy's plan.


	3. Chapter 3 Hosts, Guests

**Chapter 3.**

**Hosts,**** Guests and Those Uninvited**

The violent shake of the shuttle was as sudden to the sleeping Doctor as it was unpleasant.

"What the hell...?"

His half-formed question sank in another shakedown. Cursing, McCoy managed to get up and crouch to his seat.

"We are under attack, Doctor," Spock informed him in a boring voice as if he was delivering a weather report.

"From who?"

"Unknown as yet." Another shake. "The firing pattern and frequency indicates a weapon of Orion design."

"Orion? Are we in their space?"

"Negative. We have just entered the Misty Worlds territory."

"Then why, in the name of my sanity, are they firing on us?"

"Unknown. I am endeavoring to take evasive actions."

"Can't we fire back?"

"Unfortunately, their first shot damaged our sensors and our weapon's array. At the moment we are quite defenseless."

"You didn't see this coming?"

"Doctor, their attack was quite rapid, which would also indicate our adversaries are the Orions. This shuttle was not designed to go into battle."

"Damn! How long will it take us ... Spock, what's happening? Why are we accelerating?"

"I have transferred all available power to the engines. It seems to be the most rational approach."

"Can we slow down again before we land?"

The Vulcan merely looked at him, and the expression in his eyes made McCoy shudder.

"Great. Now we'll edge the surface of whatever unfortunate planet lies ahead of us."

"It is Calliope, and would you prefer instead to be – I believe the correct expression is – blasted out of the sky?"

"I'd prefer not to be locked up with a cold-blooded computerized hobgoblin in a tin can on its way to oblivion."

"I, too, would prefer a companion, who can rationalize before asking questions, but I am afraid neither of us has a choice, Doctor."

"Don't you think I know that?" He noticed the sudden silence. "Why aren't they firing?"

"They have fallen back," Spock replied calmly, even as his hands flew rapidly over the console. "Prepare for landing. It is going to be a rough one."

"If you say that," McCoy muttered, gripping the hands of his seat, "I don't want to even think of how rough it's gonna be."

Spock couldn't afford to spare him an answer. The shuttle entered the atmosphere at the worst possible angle, as the maneuvering thrusters were barely functioning. Fighting to level off the shuttle, Spock tried to remember the exact location of Calliope's cities. The navigational panel went offline, he could only count on his memory when he calculated the descend trajectory. He wasn't supposed to do that in his head, either, but had no choice than to try.

They were spiraling down more and more rapidly by the moment. Dizzy and disoriented, McCoy stared at cascading whirls of gray-purple clouds, having lost all sense of time.

"Now I know why it's called the Misty Worlds," he whispered absently.

"Brace for impact!" Spock shouted, his fingers working the console so hastily – it seemed to fume.

The last thing McCoy saw before he lost consciousness was a long line of dark green trees, dissipating rapidly ahead of them.

The first sensation to greet him back was a magnificent headache. He shifted instinctively to find a better position and opened his eyes. He was lying face down on the shuttle floor, or more accurately, half-lying as the surface in question made quite a sharp angle. The bulkheads at the back of the shuttle, which now turned into its ceiling, were broken, as was the deck in several spots.

Groaning, McCoy lifted up on his elbows and looked at the crashed control panel, broken illuminators and furrowed metal all around him. He was a doctor, not an engineer, but he could tell with absolute certainty, which even Spock wouldn't challenge, that the shuttle would never fly again.

And speaking of the Vulcan, McCoy thought with sudden surge of worry, for the Science Officer was nowhere in sight.

"Spock?" McCoy called, trying to get up, his voice feeble and hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Spock."

There was no reply. Cursing and hissing in pain, McCoy climbed upward, towards the exit. He diagnosed his injuries automatically as he went up. Several nasty bruises, a mildly sprained wrist, and a headache – he'd have to check out for concussion later, though he was not dizzy and his vision was not blurry, which seemed to be a pretty good sign. Now, if he could only find that blasted pointy-eared walking computer and make sure he was okay...

The light outside blinded him, though it became clear in a moment, that it was not at its brightest. The rays of ochre Calliope sun were descending softly through the thick greenish leaves of the trees that surrounded the unfortunate vessel. They seemed to have landed on a picturesque quiet clearing, covered with star-like gleaming white flowers, small and numerous; a brook could be heard bubbling cheerfully nearby, and loud birds' chattering was an obvious indication that the forest was full of life before this unasked intervention.

Slowly, McCoy pushed himself out of the distorted shuttle and slid in a swift painful motion to the soft ground.

"Spock?" he called again, nursing his injured wrist. "Are you... Sweet Jesus!" he exclaimed as the Vulcan emerged from under the shuttle right in front of him, looking up questionably. "Couldn't you simply answer when called?" the Doctor fumed, stepping back. "Or are you that determined to give me a heart attack?"

Spock crawled out and came to his feet. He had several cuts and bruises, but otherwise appeared fine.

"I can see that you have not suffered any lasting damage, Doctor," he stated, turning towards the only nacelle that remained intact and examining it. "This is gratifying."

"No thanks to you," McCoy grunted. "I thought you said you _could_ fly this thing."

The Vulcan ignored him, scanning the nacelle with a tricorder and frowning.

"What are you doing?"

"I am trying to determine whether 'this thing' can provide us with anything we could use. Unfortunately, it does not look promising," he concluded, snapping his tricorder shut and turning to look at his companion more closely. "Your wrist needs bandages."

"I'll be the doctor here, if you don't mind, Mr. Spock," McCoy retorted. "Where the devil are we?"

"In the middle of the southern continent," Spock replied. "Since our descend was mostly uncontrollable, I tried to avoid populated territories."

"Brilliant plan," McCoy noted sarcastically. "How are we supposed to get to those populated territories now? I take it, communications are off?"

"You are correct. However, I have marked the location of the nearest settlement as we landed. We shall walk."

For a couple of seconds, McCoy simply stared at him, hundreds of acid replies whirling in his head. He finally thought better of it. Spock's demeanor was as impeccable as ever, he looked concentrated and determined, and there seemed to be no point in challenging his suggestion, since the only alternative was, evidently, to try and make camp.

Suddenly, Spock whirled around, his eyes searching the wood line sharply. In a moment, McCoy realized he heard something too.

"Sounds like a ground car," he said quietly.

Spock nodded, turning in the direction of the sound, as it came closer and then died as if someone had shut down the engine. They saw some movement behind the trees, and in a moment a tall man in dark Federation-style suit emerged into the clearing. McCoy had never seen him before, but Spock stepped forward, his shoulders relaxing a tiny bit.

"Commissioner Batim," he said, as the man closed in on them, his face grim and unwelcoming.

"Mr. Spock, is it?" Batim looked him over critically. "Where's your captain?"

"I speak for him," Spock stated calmly, ignoring the hostile tone. "This is our Chief Medical Officer, Doctor McCoy."

Batim spared the other man a short glance before returning his attention to the Vulcan.

"I thought I made myself clear, Mr. Science Officer," he said coldly. "We need help on the official level. Whatever's keeping your precious captain so busy? Or were you trying to earn a promotion and volunteered to go?"

McCoy looked sideways at Spock, watching his face hardening slightly.

"If I may ask, Commissioner," Spock's tone was cool, but calm, no note of displeasure creeping into it. "How did you find us so quickly?"

"How indeed?" Batim snorted with distaste. "The whole planet held their breaths as you fell down on their heads. Tell me, Commander, is this general Starfleet training, or are you simply incompetent in anything you do?"

"We've been fired upon," McCoy snapped angrily. The man's attitude, though directed towards the Vulcan and not him, was infuriating.

Batim stared at him incredulously.

"Fired upon? By who?"

"By the Orions. And as you would have noticed if you weren't quite so busy expressing your displeasure with Mr. Spock, we require medical attention. Since we didn't land on anybody's head, do you think it's possible to get some?"

His acid remarks made Batim's face turn mildly red, but his lips tightened stubbornly at the reprimand.

"Actually, you couldn't have chosen a worse place to land, Doctor," he said, glancing scornfully at Spock again.

"And why would that be?"

"Because this is private property."

They all turned around to see the newcomer. It was a woman, presumably in her late twenties, with auburn hair, organized in a complicated style and decorated with diamonds, sparkling brightly in the sun. In fact, her whole figure was glimmering as her clothes were richly covered with sparkling material of blue, purple and silver. The woman's eyes were dark, almost ebonite black, her face breathed with nobility and dignity, evidently inborn, along with her natural grace. With her sudden and soundless appearance, she made an impression of a fairy queen, coming straight out of folk tales.

"Madame Chancellor," Batim nodded with a heavy sigh. "I apologize for the inconvenience. I assure you, the man responsible for this unfortunate disturbance will be punished."

She raised her eyebrows, watching the strangers curiously.

"That will hardly undo the damage," she said calmly. "So this is the help you've been waiting for, Batim? Doesn't look very promising, does it?"

Her voice made some of the spell go away, making McCoy realize he was simply seeing a very young woman dressed in an unusual way. He peered over at Spock to see if the Vulcan was getting the same impression. But Spock was apparently the only one who remembered his manners – or, more likely, the protocol. He stepped forward and bowed his head politely in the direction of the woman.

"I am Lieutenant Commander Spock of the Federation starship _Enterprise_," he said evenly. "This is our ship's surgeon Doctor McCoy."

The woman looked them over in turn, her gaze lingering on Spock for a moment, then came over and bowed gracefully, too.

"I am Sanaya, Chancellor of Calliope," she said. "I must admit, Commander, that is some precision on your landing. You are standing in my country-house's backyard."

McCoy suppressed a laugh, seeing the look upon Spock's face.

"I am very sorry, Your Excellency."

She waved his apologies off dismissively.

"It could have been worse, you know. You could have landed in the Council's Chamber, with my brother having a Council session in progress." She watched them for a moment before adding. "And don't call me 'Excellency.' I know it's official and everything, but I'd really appreciate it, if you don't. In case you were wondering, I am not wearing these because I'm some sort of royalty. It's the way we all dress. Helps see each other in the fog."

Must be some fog, McCoy thought, watching rows of sparkles streaming beautifully down her figure, as if she was a tiny and exquisite Christmas tree. Spock, obviously, did his homework better, for this came as no news to him.

"Chancellor, we are here to discuss your situation," he said. "We hope we can make you reconsider your position regarding the Federation help."

She sighed, her face darkening.

"You'll have a chance to make your case in front of the Council. But I have to warn you that my brother, who is currently the head of it, is not particularly fond of the idea. Mr. Batim here had no luck for months in convincing him."

"What about you?" McCoy asked instantly.

"I am not the one who needs convincing, Doctor. I don't like strangers on Calliope anymore than Sanar does, but there are some things we are not capable of handling on our own," she said coldly. "I'm in charge of all the internal affairs, including public health. If you plan to inspect our hospitals, you'll know what I'm talking about."

"That is what I'm here for," McCoy nodded grimly. "To help your people if I can."

"I hope so," she said, studying him closely. "Now, if you're up to walking, my villa is just behind that hill. I can send you to the city from there."

"That would be most appreciated, Madame," Spock said, wiping drops of blood coming from a cut on his forehead.

"This way, then," she turned and walked towards the hill, showing the way.

"We can return for your equipment later," Spock told McCoy, seeing his obvious hesitation.

"Sure," the Doctor sighed. "If there's anything left of it."

They marched after the glowing silhouette of the Chancellor, followed by a grim looking Batim.

--

Christine came to consciousness slowly, feeling as if a hundred of laborious little dwarfs were deviously planning a working shift right under her skull. I've been stunned, she thought through the haze of overpowering dizziness. It'll pass soon.

And she actually started to feel better as several moments went by, filled with incomprehensive groans and sounds.

"Oh, my head hurts," Christine heard what sounded like Uhura's voice, and opened her eyes at last.

They were still together, all four of them, in a small and foreign looking compartment with no furniture or any kind of insignia. Uhura straightened up with obvious difficulty, helping Lieutenant Quaint to sit up, while Christine bent over Yeoman Rand.

"Where are we?" Janice asked weakly, looking around without recognizing anything.

"What is the last thing you remember?" Quaint asked, trying to reconstruct the sequence of events as a good scientist would do.

"The bar," Chapel said. "The Captain walked out, and then those two Orions came over."

"They asked if they could buy us a round," Rand recalled, and turned to Uhura. "You told them no."

"The shorter one, he touched his bracelet," Uhura nodded slowly. "He must have had a transponder implanted in it."

"I remember the transporter beam," Janice said. "And then – nothing."

"Looks like they've transported us to their ship and stunned immediately," Quaint concluded.

"What makes you think it's a ship?" Christine asked bewildered.

The three of them looked at her, as if she had said something downright stupid.

"Can't you hear the humming?" Rand asked. "We're at warp, that's for sure."

Having been stationed for the majority of her Starfleet career at ground facilities, Christine felt her face go slightly red, as she realized how far from a match she was to these so much more experienced women when it came to space travel.

Suddenly, the door slid open, and an older Orion came in, looking at them appraisingly. He was rather fat, and short, and his clothes bore a striking resemblance to some tropical parrot's outfit. The sight made Rand chuckle hysterically.

"What, are you from _the Pirates of Penzance_?" she blurted out without thinking.

Chapel felt she shared the sentiment. She realized it wasn't a good sign, but it was all so _unrealistic_. Starfleet personnel, kidnapped in broad daylight, on a well-guarded planet, in plain view of their commanding officer, by some clown in an odd costume? She couldn't quite believe she wasn't dreaming.

But Uhura and Quaint rose up to their feet, facing the Orion, and Christine noticed a peculiarity in their posture that sent cold shivers down her spine. Quaint was standing in front, while Uhura – one step back and slightly to her left. _The shoulder formation_, Christine recognized one of the primary Starfleet security exercise, the very beginning of training, that anyone, even non-essential and non-security personnel was required to take. _While facing danger, stand in a shoulder formation, so that one could always cover another._ Seeing Uhura and Quaint automatically assume this pattern, made her finally catch up with her senses and realize it was all for real. They were captured by the Orion pirates. This wasn't a dream.

She and Rand stood up then, too; the Yeoman standing beside Uhura and Christine herself coming to Quaint's right.

"Welcome to the _Wanderer_, ladies," the Orion said, smiling at them. "I am Risa Tork, the owner of this vessel."

"Why have you kidnapped us?" Uhura demanded in a cold, but controlled voice.

"Kidnapped you?" Tork feigned surprise with admirable conviction. "My dear girl, you are guests here. Very special guests, in fact."

"Really?" Uhura snapped. "Then we can leave as we please?"

"I'm afraid not," Tork shook his head. "You see, I'm not only the owner of this vessel, I'm now your owner, too."

"On what grounds?" Quaint protested. "We are Federation citizens! By what right do you call yourself our owner?"

"This," Tork clapped his hand disruptor that was hanging in a holster on his belt fondly, "This gives me the right, my charming Federation guest. I have a special order for Earth girls, you see, my customers sometimes have very unusual tastes. I merely came here to tell you where you are, and what awaits you so that you wouldn't do anything stupid."

"Anything stupid?" Rand asked as he put his hand on her hip, in what he apparently thought was a reassuring gesture. "Like this?"

She slapped him hard, making him fly back, till he collided with a bulkhead. The pleasant expression on his face faltered a little, but returned almost instantly, as he straightened up.

"I can see a certain demonstration is in order," he said calmly, playing with his bracelet.

Rand suddenly screamed, clutching her upper arm, clearly in pain.

"Stop it!" Uhura yelled, as they all tried to support her body shaking violently. "Stop it, you're gonna kill her!"

"It's time you learn to be polite," Tork watched her unperturbed to the point of boredom. "Say please."

"Please!" Quaint said, as Uhura glared at him in helpless fury. "Please, Captain Tork, release her!"

"As you wish," he tapped his bracelet again, and Rand's body went limb in their hands, as she moaned softly.

Tork observed them with a satisfied expression on his face.

"Do not try to remove the implants, they will blow up with the first touch of oxygen. You're all gonna be here for a very long time. Make yourselves comfortable."

He turned on his heals and left, the door hissing shut behind him.

"Is she all right?" Uhura asked Christine with concern, as the Nurse was automatically measuring Rand's pulse.

"Hopefully," Christine nodded. "What are we going to do now?"

Uhura and Quaint looked at each other with identical anxious expressions on their faces.

"Captain Kirk will find us," Rand said in a weak voice, but with desperate conviction.

Quaint frowned at these words. "The first duty of every Starfleet officer who's been taken prisoner-" she started.

"-is to escape," Uhura finished for her.

Jessica nodded, somehow looking more confident than a moment ago.

"We need a plan," she said. "And in order to come up with one, we need information."

"Well," Uhura sighed, shrugging and grinning wryly at her. "Let's see if we can get some."

--

It was much as he expected, and yet, it wasn't. In his many years of practicing medicine, he had never encountered anything quite like Prixia. The disease was formidable. Starting like a common cold, it soon attacked the victim's lungs, devouring tissues and filling the cavity with toxic fluid. That resulted first in coughing, progressing rapidly to severe breathing difficulty and oxygen deprivation. In the end, even the intubation and complete life support could not save the patient, who died either from suffocation or brain damage.

McCoy studied all this in the shuttle, making several hypotheses on how the disease was contracted, but those remained to be tested. He knew he was facing a dreadful enemy, whose origin and true nature remained as yet unknown. He also realized that humans were most likely immune. Mr. Batim's continuing presence on the planet along with his perfect health seemed to vouch solidly for that. He new he should not feel too comfortable about it, though.

It was a good thing he took a guide on his way to the hospital. The streets of Calliope (the capital had the same name as the planet) were lit so brightly it made his eyes hurt. All the buildings were covered with glimmering lights of every color imaginable and it made the city look overly festive, far more than the Champs Elysees on Christmas. Everyone he met was dressed exactly the same way as Sanaya, making him dizzy with flashing colors and forms. The fog, his guide explained, would come down as the night falls and this would be the time to appreciate this over-shining décor. McCoy sincerely doubted that anything would make him do that, but kept his thoughts to himself.

"Careful!" he shouted instinctively, as a boy about five years old nearly knocked him off his feet in the hospital corridor.

"Sorry," the boy muttered looking up with some apprehension.

"That's okay," McCoy came down to his hunkers, smiling reassuringly. "What's your name?"

"Bonad," the boy answered importantly. "What's yours?"

"I'm Doctor McCoy," the Doctor said, examining the boy visually. "Are you a patient here, Bonad?"

"Yeah," the boy nodded. "I'm here with Learie."

"Who's Learie?"

"My sister. She's five times as old as me," the boy showed his palm with outstretched fingers several times in order to emphasize the greater age of his sister. "How old are you?"

McCoy chuckled.

"I'm afraid, I don't have enough fingers to show," he said, looking around for some help. "Where is your sister, Bonad?"

The boy's face fell as he glanced warily towards the other side of the corridor.

"In there," he said considerably quieter.

"She doesn't know you're here," McCoy deduced sympathetically.

"She'd been all boring and wanted me to read that stupid book – again!" Bonad complained miserably.

"What stupid book?"

"You know, the one that says we shouldn't fight and be rude because we're all going to die in the end. I've read it a _million_ times already. I don't want to die."

Frowning, McCoy straightened up and took the boy's hand.

"You don't have to," he said softly. "But you're not supposed to stay in the corridor, it's cold in here. Let's go find your sister. I'm sure I can talk her out of reading today."

Bonad smiled hopefully and tugged him along in the direction of the ward. By the time they found Learie, the girl was worried sick, having searched for her brother everywhere.

"Bonad!" she exclaimed with a mixture of anger and relief. "Where have you been? Why must I look for you in the whole hospital? I even went to Healer Daraya's office and you know what she thinks of intrusions! Why did you run away?"

"I didn't!" he cried, turning red in the face.

"Yes, you did! And now you're troubling this respectable man. I'm so sorry, sir," she addressed McCoy for the first time. "My apologies for my brother's behavior."

McCoy looked at her curiously. Evidently, Bonad's talents in mathematics were far from precise, as the girl was obviously not much older than fourteen or fifteen. She had same light-brown hair, green eyes and was slightly pug-nosed, which suited her very well. She was also much paler than the boy, and her lips looked completely colorless, which was the obvious sign of the disease reaching its final stage.

"That's okay, he didn't bother me," McCoy told her softly, gently pushing the boy toward her. "You are Learie? I'm Doctor McCoy."

"You're from the Federation!" she realized suddenly, practically snatching the boy out of his grasp and snuggling him firmly to herself, as if protecting.

"That's right, but that's all right, I won't hurt you," McCoy tried to reassure her. "I'm here to help."

"You're violent! You fight, and brawl, and – and you _wage hostility_!" she was becoming more agitated by the second. "What have you told Bonad? He's fighting too much already! He doesn't want to accept the peaceful way."

"I don't want to die!" Bonad yelled at her, trying to get out of her grip.

"Is that what they tell you – not to fight?" McCoy asked concerned. "Even if your enemy is the disease?"

"Fighting is not our way," Learie replied, and suddenly, as if realizing what she was doing, she let go off her brother. "It's not my way. I've been taught to live my life in peace. That's the way I wanna die – in peace."

"And I don't!" Bonad stamped his feet stubbornly. "I don't wanna die!"

"You're not going to die today, Bonad," a strict cool voice stated confidently.

A tall dark-haired woman in her late fifties was standing in the doorway, watching the scene with the look of disapproval upon her face.

"Healer Daraya," Learie squeaked. "I'm sorry for the disturbance. My brother is upset."

"I can see that," the woman nodded coldly. "It's time for both of you to get your midday meal. Go on."

Obediently, they strode out of the room. Even Bonad stopped protesting. It was obvious that Healer Daraya's authority was not to be challenged.

"Doctor McCoy, I presume?" the Healer asked, turning her icy-grey eyes on him. "I am the chief healer of the hospital. We can talk in my office."

She walked out without waiting for his reply. Trying to cover his annoyance with a polite expression of attention, McCoy followed her along the empty corridors. Evidently, Learie and Bonad were not the only ones to receive their midday meal at the time.

"So, you're here to evaluate the scale of epidemic," she stated, gesturing him to a chair.

"I'm hoping to do more than that, ma'am," he said, watching her warily. "I intended to render my services and expertise to help you find the cure."

Her eyebrows creased a little, and it was the only reaction he received.

"You have studied our data, haven't you?" He nodded. "Then you must be aware that there's no hope of finding a cure."

"I don't agree," he objected calmly. "Based on your data, I've conducted some preliminary experimentation. Using the computer, of course, as I had no access to tissue samples. But even the calculated results seem promising. If you'd allow me to conduct further tests, I'm sure we can find the means to defeat the disease."

"Defeat the disease," she repeated thoughtfully. "You're using military terms, Doctor, even when talking about medicine. I'm afraid our definitions of curing are too different. You see, we do not fight any disease. We do not – beat it. We let it-"

"Let it beat you?" he asked, failing spectacularly to suppress his anger. "You prepare your patients for inevitable death instead of searching for a way to make them stronger? You don't want to hear me out even when I'm saying that there is a good chance we'd find a cure? Do you enjoy watching your people die?"

"We did not invite you here so that you could insult our beliefs," she snapped. After a moment, she made several deep breathes, steeling herself, and continued in a calmer tone. "I do not enjoy seeing my people die, Doctor. You are here as an observer, and you can conduct whatever experiments you want, as long as they don't harm anyone. But I beg you to be careful in the means you choose to develop your medicine. Even if your cure proves effective we could not accept it if it's based on _fighting_ the disease. For you, this may sound ridiculous, but, for us, this is very much like saving the body for the cost of the soul. Do you understand what I'm saying, Doctor?"

"I think I do," he said quietly, realizing with devastating clarity that he had never faced a more complicated medical challenge in his life.

--

"Are we still able to trace them, Mr. Sulu?" Kirk snapped at the helmsman, making him flinch.

The Captain had spent on the Bridge eighteen hours straight; he hadn't stepped down for a moment since he beamed back from Kroulen. They were able to define the origin of the transporter beam that caught Lieutenant Uhura and the others, but the Orions had them at a huge disadvantage. They shipped off immediately, jumping to warp nine as soon as they were out of the solar system, whereas the _Enterprise_ had to lose a considerable amount of precious time recalling its crew from shore leaves, and disengaging the refitting procedures. The Orion ship outran them easily.

"Yes, sir," Sulu replied nervously. His shift was over long ago, too. "But we'll lose them in twenty minutes. I can't make her go any faster than warp six."

Kirk whirled to the Chief Engineer, who's been on duty for twenty eight hours now, and started to feel and look delirious.

"Where's my speed, Mr. Scott?" Kirk demanded tersely. "In case you haven't noticed, we're losing this damn race!"

Scotty was way past caring for his wording by then. He was tired and frustrated, feeling that it all happened on his watch, and somehow that made him responsible. He turned to Kirk angrily.

"In case _ye_ haven't noticed, Captain, ye've made me snatch the bloody ship right outta the engines' recalibration procedure! It's a miracle she's managing warp six as it is, and the only way ye can make her go faster is to put on a spacesuit, get the hell out of the ship, and give her a push!"

The silence that followed these words was deafening. Everyone turned to look at Scotty's face, red with anger and indignation, as he gasped for air. The Captain didn't say anything for several long seconds, then, he cleared his throat.

"No, I don't think I'd want to do that, Mr. Scott," he said calmly.

"Captain, I..." Scotty started to say, realizing just how far out of line he'd been, but Kirk interrupted him.

"I apologize for snapping at you, Scotty," Jim said softly. "What you said is right, of course. I know you're doing the best you can."

"Aye, sir," the Engineer said with relief. "I'm sorry too, sir."

Kirk nodded, considering the matter settled.

"Stay with them as long as you can, Mr. Sulu. Mr. Renseb," the Captain turned the Gamma-shift science officer, who manned the station almost around the clock now, as both Spock and Lieutenant Quaint were absent. "When we do get there, we're going to need every bit of information you can scrap. Turn your scanners to maximum."

"Aye, sir."

Sulu turned back to his station, feeling amazed and strangely encouraged at the same time. None of his previous commanding officers had ever apologized to their subordinate, at least, not in public. For a moment, he simply marveled at Captain Kirk's acute sense of justice. He made it abundantly clear that no one was above reproach in a difficult situation they all were in.

"We've lost them, sir," Sulu reported the moment he realized he could no longer distinguish the warp signature of the Orion ship.

"How long till we get to their last known coordinates, Mr. Renseb?"

"About eight hours, sir," the Ensign answered tiredly.

_About _eight hours, Kirk mused with dry humor. Where are my minutes and seconds?

"All right," the Captain said, coming to his feet. "Reduce speed to warp four, and maintain present course. Now, everyone who's been on the Bridge for more than twelve hours, get out. You too, Mr. Scott."

"Aye, sir. I'll check on the engines, and-"

"No, you won't, Mr. Scott," Kirk's voice was suddenly stern. "You'll go straight to your quarters and get at least a six hour sleep."

"But Captain-"

"That's an order, Mr. Scott," he looked around the Bridge strictly. "Same goes for everyone. We can't help them if we're collapsing from exhaustion."

"Does this mean you're going too, sir?" Yeoman Barrows asked boldly, hands on her hips. She wasn't looking her best either, taking over her own shift along with Yeoman Rand's, refusing to let a less experienced crewman to come near the Captain in his current state.

Kirk frowned, but realized soon enough he could hardly argue his own point.

"Yes, Yeoman, I'll step down, too. Ensign," he looked at Uhura's substitute, "page Mr. DeSalle to the Bridge."

"Aye, sir."

He was the last one to turn over his post, and consequently on his way down to his quarters, he was alone. The deep drowning frustration was overwhelming him. How could he possibly have been this stupid? He saw the Orions, he must have noted their interest, he should never have walked out like that.

Shaking his head, he tried to concentrate on the present. It wasn't practical – or logical, he thought with a wry smirk, to dwell too long on 'might have beens.' As natural, as his thoughts drifted to Spock for a moment, Kirk gritted his teeth with vehemence worthy of a better employment.

Honestly, how stupid can one and the same human being get? He'd made mistake after mistake, error after error, and got angry at the very people who tried – tactfully, with understanding and consideration, - to help him out of this vicious circle. He remembered vividly the day he vowed vigorously to himself he would never twit Spock for not demonstrating his supposedly non-existent feelings the way humans did. It was nowhere hear fair play, and he, James T. Kirk, had always taken great pride in playing fair.

He was so displeased with himself lately, so angry with himself when he thought about Gary, and the way their relationship had changed. It was almost as if he had always been his own hero, and the death of his friend made him take a good look in the mirror that never lied, and this mirror shattered his own integrity. Doubts regarding his own character, disappointment in what he considered to be his failings, made him so explicitly angry – it was too much for one person to contain.

And there was Spock, courteous, correct, all-accepting. He made an easy target for his Captain's dissatisfaction with himself. And the fact that he acted on those indecent and selfish impulses on several occasions made Kirk take another highly unpleasant trip through the vast jungle of shame.

What was more, he lied to Spock, or more accurately, to all of them. He actually promised Spock to find a new executive officer, and he made the rest of the crew believe that was exactly what he was doing, but the truth was, he hadn't submitted a request. At first, he'd been so angry, he decided wisely to wait till his temper runs out. Then, he deliberately let one thing distract him after another, until he realized he kept procrastinating for no reason.

It occurred to him suddenly, that advising elimination of life was hardly an easy experience for any Vulcan. They'd been taught to value and treasure every life since the very moment of birth. It occurred to him, with another swing of shame, that concentrating on his own offended feelings, he failed to notice that Spock, too, was in distress, and perhaps to an even greater degree. And he, Kirk, did nothing to alleviate his discomfort, but rather everything to deepen it.

The fact that he was now forced to take the ship further and further from his two friends – yes, dammit, _two_ friends, even if one of them would hardly be on speaking terms with him for very long now, - made nothing to improve his mood.


	4. Chapter 4 Dances with Beasts

**Chapter ****4**

**Dances with Beasts**

Spock listened to McCoy's report impassively, making no comments and asking no questions. They were standing in the hall of the Misty Council, waiting for their audience to begin. Before the Doctor joined him, Spock had some time to admire the laconic elegant style of the hall. With its certain primitive details that only made the whole impression more powerful and authentic, it appeared respectably old and solid in form and essence. Unlike any other building on Calliope, the Council Hall was not illuminated in scarlet colors. It stood out by being absolutely quiet in its dark-grey beauty. For a moment, Spock wondered if the lack of glimmering décor was meant to emphasize the official embodiment of the Misty Worlds' power.

"I don't know how, but you've gotta convince these people, Mr. Spock," the Doctor was raging persistently. "It's so unimaginably stupid. She actually said they'd refuse a cure if it doesn't meet their 'peaceful' requirements. Downright insanity, if you ask me. It's them who politicize medicine, not me."

"Doctor," Spock interrupted him suddenly. "There is nothing wrong with my memory. I can assure you that it is quite reliable, as is my capacity to understand human speech."

McCoy, who fell silent midword, stared at him nonplussed.

"I'm happy to hear that," he said finally. "Though, for the love of me, I have no idea why you decided to share this revelation with me just now."

"The decision born from necessity," Spock explained. "You have started to repeat yourself for the third time by my count. I decided to alleviate whatever doubts you might possess regarding my ability of comprehension."

For several long seconds, the Doctor merely glared at him, trying to digest what he had just heard. He felt a fierce spasm of anger attacking his throat at this unprovoked portion of Vulcan reasoning. Just as he was about to retort, he remembered where they were, and tried to get his voice under control with tremendous effort.

"I never doubted your ability of comprehension, Mr. Spock," he hissed through gritted teeth. "It's non-existent. It's clear you can't comprehend the pain and suffering these people are going through – or the impact this can have on others. For a moment there, I talked to you as to a fellow human being, and I'm sorry. Yes, I'm truly sorry you're the only hope they have. Jim would have had a chance of convincing them, but a cold-blooded fish like you..." he shook his head helplessly. "They're doomed."

"For once, we are in agreement, Doctor," Spock replied softly. "I would rather the Captain were here, too."

"Make that three of us," Commissioner Batim said, coming over. "After what I've seen this morning and just heard, I'm convinced you'll hurt rather than help, Mr. Spock."

"Gentlemen, I appreciate your concerns regarding myself as a representative of the Federation, but I must insist that you keep them to yourselves while we are here," Spock said in a cold commanding voice McCoy hadn't heard him use before. The Vulcan stood a little straighter, he seemed taller than usual, and the expression on his face was dead serious. "The Calliopeans have enough doubts about the _hostility_ of the Federation as it is. There is no need in helping them make the wrong conclusion."

"You started it," McCoy objected, while Batim merely bristled with disdain, refusing to acknowledge Spock's authority. The Science Officer looked as if he was about to add something, but, at this very moment, the black wooden doors started to open, revealing the Council Chamber, where the members of the Misty Council were already assembled, all wearing glimmering scarlet robes.

The three of them stepped warily inside, facing the board of the Misty Worlds ranking officials. Almost at the centre, immediately to the left of the ruler's seat, McCoy spotted Sanaya, who nodded at them with noble grace. The man occupying the central seat looked surprisingly young to be holding this chair. Family resemblance spoke loudly in brother and sister, but where Sanaya looked dignified and wise, Sanar seemed arrogant and impatient, making the outsiders wish desperately their positions had been reversed.

"Greetings, strangers," the young man spoke in a clear cold voice that echoed faintly under the high ceiling. "I am Sanar, the Ruler of the Misty Council. Which one of you will make the petition?"

Batim frowned, but remained where he stood, as if saying 'I've already done everything I can.' McCoy glanced at Spock with what he hoped to make a 'good luck' look that didn't come to him exactly easily. He realized, of course, that regardless of his impassive – and infuriating – manner, Spock would do his best to make those people listen. It was, after all, his duty as a Starfleet officer. But the Doctor couldn't quite make himself believe that respect for duty alone would help here. And the damn Vulcan was hardly capable of anything else.

"I will," Spock answered clearly, stepping forward. "I am Lieutenant Commander Spock of the Federation starship _Enterprise_. I am here to represent the Federation."

Sanar's eyebrows creased a little, and a sardonic smirk appeared in the corner of his mouth.

"Evidently, the Federation holds us in great esteem," he remarked sarcastically. "But you are here. Please, come closer and make your petition. The rest of you – wait over there."

McCoy and Batim walked in the direction that he gestured and came to stand in the guest area, to the left of the board. Spock came over the centre of the room, standing merely four feet away from Sanar's seat.

"Ruler Sanar, respectable members of the Misty Council," Spock began in his calm deep voice. "It has been brought to our attention that your worlds are facing an unprecedented health crisis. The death toll is increasing progressively, according to our observations and your own data. Prixia is a formidable disease that none of the Federation worlds have encountered before. As your neighbors and fellow members of the interstellar community, we cannot stand idly by while your worlds are coming to the verge of total extinction."

His last words produced a wave of alarmed whispers among the members of the board. McCoy knew perfectly well Spock wasn't exaggerating, but it was clear from the incredulous and stunned looks around them that the estimation had come as news. The only person who remained unimpressed was Sanar.

Spock made a well-calculated pause, before continuing.

"As you know, the Federation is not interested in the Misty Worlds from either economical, political or strategic point of view. Although we would welcome a closer and warmer relationship between our people and a chance to study your culture and traditions, we always respected your wishes not to be disturbed. And we always shall," he glanced over the board again, before concentrating solely on Sanar. "But, at this moment, we beg you: let us help."

McCoy flinched involuntarily, as did half a dozen members of the Council. Was it possible that he heard correctly? Their cold-blooded computerized logical to the core Vulcan officer actually used the word _beg_? And while his phrasing was laconic, his very tone, without ever rising, screamed with sincerity...

"We have conducted some preliminary research," Spock went on smoothly, evidently unaware of the effect he was producing. "Doctor McCoy can present you with details should you wish for it, but suffice it to say that the results show promising. I do not offer these assurances lightly. I would not wish to evoke a false hope. But our study allows me to say that with some additional tests, we might be able to offer you the means of alleviating the crisis."

"And what do you ask in return?" a voice said somewhere from the right. "A Federation military base on Calliope?"

"No," Spock said determinately. "We are not interested in creating military bases."

"But Starfleet is a military organization," another official noted. "Would you deny that?"

"Starfleet has a military structure," Spock admitted. "But its primary purpose is peaceful exploration of the galaxy."

"I'm not so sure the Klingons would agree with that definition," Sanar noted. "Or the Romulans."

"Your Excellency, if you had visited Earth, you would undoubtedly have come across a flower called a rose. It is beautiful and has a charming smell. If you wish to admire it – peacefully – it will not harm you. But if you wish to pluck it, you _will_ be harmed – by its thorns. Being able to defend oneself does not equal being aggressive."

"Smart," Batim whispered to McCoy, clearly impressed. "Your friend is a fine debater. He doesn't challenge, he redirects attention. Did he receive diplomatic training?"

The Doctor merely shrugged. "You guess is as good as mine."

"Be that as it may," Sanar said, frowning. "Can you vouch that the Federation had never started a war on its own accord?"

"If by 'starting a war' you do not mean a simple declaration but a continuous series of actions resulting in the beginning of an armed conflict, than I can indeed vouch for the Federation."

"Sophistry. Your ships are loaded with weapons. You're standing in front of us even now carrying a piece of your peaceful exploration," Sanar nodded at Spock's phaser.

"Starfleet is an extremely efficient instrument because it consists of highly qualified specialists in all fields of knowledge. However, if you are unwilling to accept Starfleet's assistance, we can arrange for another Federation body to step in. There are a number of non-governmental organizations that will be willing to help. For instance, the Red Cross."

"And while we're engaged in some stupid bride-show, more people will die," Sanaya said bitterly. "Why don't we let them help us, Sanar? Without somebody's interference, we're all going to die out. How does it hurt us to let them help?"

"Madame Chancellor is correct," McCoy spoke suddenly, before Sanar could respond. Everyone turned to look at him. "Your healers and hospitals are well suited for treating, but not for finding the cure. You need researchers and we happen to have some."

"And the only logical way of finding out whether or not you can trust someone," Spock added quickly, "is to trust them. A long time ago my people chose to trust the humankind. We were not disappointed by the outcome."

Sanar stared at him, frowning, apparently not convinced. There was a distinctive wave of unsure murmurs and doubtful whispers along the board. Finally, the Ruler spoke.

"You're asking us to trust the Federation, Commander Spock. That is a lot to ask. I don't believe we can achieve that in a day." McCoy sighed heavily, realizing they had come to a dead end. But Sanar spoke again, looking dubious and suddenly indecisive. "But we can choose to trust one man, if he proves trustworthy. You said you're here representing the Federation, which, according to you, does not wage hostility. Would you be willing to prove your _personal_ devotion to peace to this Council?"

Hearing a sharp intake of breath, McCoy snapped his head to look at Batim. The Commissioner was grim.

"Don't let him do this," he muttered warily to McCoy. "I know what he's talking about. No outworlder has ever survived this test."

"I am willing, Your Excellency," Spock replied in his usual even tone. "What do you suggest?"

"A test," Sanar said, watching him now with a certain hint of curiosity and anticipation. McCoy caught a glimpse of Sanaya, whose pale face was a clear indication that she didn't share her brother's eagerness to put the stranger through the test. "A traditional ordeal for every Calliopean, who wishes to be a member of this Council."

"Stop him!" Batim whispered urgently. "His death won't help anyone."

McCoy knew he would either have to break the protocol _again_ and shout, or to let his colleague walk into the unknown danger blindly. He opened his mouth to cry out a warning, but, at this very moment, Spock turned to look at him and shook his head almost imperceptibly. 'He heard us,' the Doctor realized at once, amazed and anxious at the same time. 'Those Vulcan ears of his. But then...'

"Is it possible for a non-Calliopean to pass this test?" Spock asked Sanar.

The Ruler nodded.

"Then, I shall endeavor to undertake the ordeal," Spock said, bowing his head respectfully.

"Good," Sanar stood up, and the members of the Council joined him. "The Council will make its decision regarding your petition after your success – or failure."

The glimmering shiver of robes signaled their departure. Only one person was left behind. Spock didn't move, correctly interpreting the silent order. When the inner doors were finally closed behind the last councilor, Sanaya stepped down and walked over to him.

"You've made a mistake," she stated, looking grave. "No outsider has ever been able to pass this test."

"Even my failure might serve a useful purpose, Chancellor," Spock replied calmly. "I have, therefore, made no mistake."

She shrugged, sending flashes of colored sparkles across the room.

"I hope you're right, for all our sakes. Follow me."

McCoy watched them go, with a sinking heart, trying to figure out just what they had gotten themselves into. Beside him, Batim shook his head in exasperation.

"Vulcans," he spat in disgust. "They can only see black and white, can they? Nothing in between. Damn," he looked at McCoy with a humorless smirk. "I wish you could call your captain now. This pointy-eared fellow won't be around for the second stage of negotiations."

--

The crack of the whip made them all jump, though it was a poor warning for the unbelievable roar that followed it.

"Too slow, Federrrrrrration! You won't get any blasted customers, moving like that!"

"I don't wanna get any blasted customers at all," Quaint muttered murderously, but quickened the amplitude of her movements nevertheless.

"I – wonder – why – they - don't – teach – us – that – in – Starfleet," Uhura gasped, trying to follow the suicidal rhythm the drums were setting. "Too – useful a – skill – to – ignore."

It was the fifth in a series of 'dance lessons' they'd been forced to attend in order to get ready to entertain Tork's clientele, and it had hardly gone any better than the first four. Among the _Enterprise_ prisoners, Uhura was by far the best dancer, while Christine was the worst, though Rand didn't do that much better. Lieutenant Quaint was too busy scheming for the means of escape to pay close attention to the exercises, but after receiving another whip 'caress' delivered by the dancing matron every now and then, she usually showed remarkable acuteness for the process.

Later, as their merciless tutor let them rest for a short while, they curled up together on the floor of their cell, exhausted.

"Has anyone – found out – anything new?" Quaint gasped, unwilling to wait for her breath to resume its normal pattern.

"I've overheard Tork and that gruesome first officer of his talking," Uhura reported. "We'll be arriving somewhere in six hours."

"Where?"

"They didn't say."

"Origas," Rand breathed out, lifting herself up on her arms into a sitting position. "Tork told Unven."

"Origas?" Quaint repeated dubiously. "The time spent seems right, but it doesn't make any sense."

"Why not?" Rand asked.

"Remember what Tork said when we first arrived? He'd had a special order for human girls. He kidnapped us and he's training us to be sold. Logically, we'd have to be taken to some market planet – Atleas, or Goren, or some other world in the Bordering zone. Origas is a training camp."

"Your logic is not quite as flawless as Mr. Spock's, Jess," Uhura told her with a teasing glint in her eye despite the graveness of their situation. "Orions only take men into battle. The camp will be full of men who haven't had a glimpse of a woman for a while. How hard do you think it will be for Tork to find a customer there?"

At these words, Christine shivered. The prospect seemed so unthinkable, she couldn't help it. She was not a career officer like Uhura or Quaint; she didn't spend as much time in space as Rand. She had joined Starfleet for a very specific reason, and, although she realized the risks she had to take, she had never quite imagined a happenstance like this. She was scared, and she simply couldn't understand why the others weren't.

"My logic is still stronger than your arguments," Quaint sent the ball back to Uhura gracefully. "Regardless of our last evaluation scores aboard the _Enterprise_, here we are a highly expensive commodity. How many soldiers, in your estimation, can afford to buy a Starfleet lieutenant for their private fancy?"

"There has to be some," Uhura shrugged. "Or maybe Tork is doing it for free to return a favor."

"Tork?" Rand's eyes snapped wide open. "Are you kidding? He'd sell bread to his own mother if she were able to pay."

"He seems to share quite a lot with you," Uhura said with a meaningful grin.

Rand made a face at her. "He just likes blondes."

"Well, he certainly doesn't look like any Orion I have ever seen," Quaint said seriously.

"They're generally taller," Uhura agreed. "And more masculine. Like Unven."

"Yeah, and they dress like Unven, too," Rand nodded. "Mind you, he gives me creeps."

"_Creeps_?" Christine could stand this social conversation no longer. They all turned to look at her. "He scares the hell out of me. They all do," she eyed them furiously, her fear making her angry. "We're going to a planet full of _tall and masculine_ Orions, who are, for your information, double as strong as any Vulcan, not to mention humans, – and you talk about it as if it were another landing party to gather plant life samples!"

"You're right," Janice said with a straight face. "A whole planet of men looking like men. We should be celebrating."

"Yeoman," Quaint warned her to silence, watching Chapel closely.

"I don't get it!" Christine was practically yelling. "You're all acting like we're on a camping trip! Learning to dance and smiling to these – to these pirates, as if you enjoy it! I can't see anyone searching for a way to get out of here. Do you _want_ to be sold to some _customer_ to do with you as he pleases?"

Nobody said anything for a while. Uhura and Quaint glanced at each other curtly, and then Quaint stood up, looking grim.

"On your feet, Nurse," she ordered briskly.

For a moment, Christine merely looked at her, without realizing what was asked of her.

"I'm waiting, Nurse," Quaint reminded her coldly. "Get up."

Slowly, as if in a dream, Christine rose up to her feet, feeling suddenly more frightened than she was a moment ago. Quaint spoke strictly, but calmly to her.

"No one here underestimates the danger we're all in, Nurse. We might not be wearing our uniforms anymore, but we are still officers and crew of a Federation starship. We are in constant search for means of regaining our freedom, and if the most logical approach is not to exacerbate our captors, we _will_ smile at them, until we can find a way to get the hell out of here, and _you_ will do this to the best of your abilities as well, am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," Christine muttered, her lips trembling.

"Being Starfleet personnel, we must carry out our duty regardless of the circumstances," Quaint continued. "When we get back to our commanding officers, we'll have to report every bit of information we'll have gathered on our captors, and we have to make it a substantial report. In order to fulfill this task, do you think it's reasonable for us to talk or not to talk to Tork and the others?"

"To talk, sir."

"Very good, Nurse. Panic is a poor way of achieving a goal. You have allowed your fear to interfere with your duty long enough. It's very selfish of you, Ms. Chapel. Your shipmates might use a little help here."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

Quaint's expression softened, as she put a hand on Chapel's shoulder.

"We're all scared to death, Chris," she said gently. "But we can't afford to act like four girls frightened out of their wits. We are Starfleet. What's more, we are _Enterprise_. We work as a team, and we _will_ find a way out of here. Do you know why?"

Christine shook her head in an almost childlike manner. Quaint smiled at her.

"Because if we can't, no one can – and _that_ we cannot allow to happen. Do you see the advantages of logic now, Ms. Chapel? It always works."

Seeing equally supportive looks on Rand's and Uhura's faces, Christine returned Quaint's smile weakly.

"I think I _am_ going to like your Mr. Spock after all."

--

"Captain Kirk to the Bridge. Captain to the Bridge, please."

The ship-wide call woke him up from an uneasy sleep, much like a swoon, that he'd fallen in about an hour ago. The last three days had been excruciatingly exhausting both mentally and consequently physically. Kirk had given orders for his crew to get some rest as persistently, as they were ignored by them, and as neither the First Officer, nor the CMO were on board, he was helpless to deal with this flagrant case of plain mutiny.

Not that he was obsessed to do it, though. He understood their determination only too well. The fact that four of their own were kidnapped by the pirates was hardly easy news to bear, but it got much worse when realizing just which four.

Uhura was probably the most likable person on board, highly popular throughout the ship, even though she had been posted here less than a year ago. Yeoman Rand had a huge collection of hearts broken for her sake. Christine Chapel had only got here, but as it coincided with the annual physical, most people met her, and her kind and cheerful manner had easily won them over.

But the most long and grim faces belonged to those in the Science Department. With both Spock and Quaint gone, it resembled a beheaded corps, moving with automatic desperation, and feeling lost like an orphaned child. Every time Kirk happened to run into a blue-shirt, he inevitably felt a new stroke of guilt.

It was getting considerably harder for him not to feel concerned about Spock's and McCoy's silence. They hadn't checked in after their communications lockout was over, and, even if this could have been considered normal for McCoy to simply forget about such things, Kirk had never known Spock to be the tiniest bit negligent regarding the procedures. Not only that, but there had been no communications with their shuttle at all, since they had departed, and no news whatsoever on Calliope on any channel. All attempts to raise them had failed, and, although Kirk tried to convince himself that his two senior officers were merely incommunicado – and not in trouble, it never quite worked out.

Meanwhile, it became abundantly clear just how great an effect the missing crew members were producing on the ship's day-to-day operations. Yeoman Barrows did her absolute best to keep the Captain on track, but she didn't possess Rand's scrupulousness or accuracy, resulting in Kirk's desk being under constant threat of being collapsed by the ever mounting pile of reports. Mr. Scott had been so busy, trying to sort out the mess their abrupt departure had rendered the ship's systems, that he hardly had time to eat, much less deploy newly transferred personnel to their posts. Two interns, who were supposed to be Doctor McCoy's trainees for the length of the star charting mission, could not reach an agreement on anything, and were constantly giving contradictory orders, scaring the unfortunate patients and utterly confusing the nurses. The Bridge crew looked scattered, and appeared to be held together by Lieutenant Sulu's willpower alone, when Kirk wasn't there.

Ironically enough, despite their dampened spirits, the Science Department remained the only one operating smoothly as a Swiss watch, whereas the rest of the ship was moving rapidly towards complete administrative havoc. It was naturally a tribute to Mr. Spock's executive talents, as he had apparently created and successfully implemented the system, logical to the point of genial simplicity.

With difficulty, as the fatigue-born pain ravished on his whole body, Kirk reached for the com panel.

"Kirk here."

"Captain," Sulu's voice sounded tired but enthusiastic. "I think we may have something. You'd better take a look."

"On my way."

Automatically, he glanced at the chronometer, noting that it was early morning, and rushed out of his quarters, his heart beating fast. It occurred to him that in his haste he didn't even ask if the news touched upon Spock's or Uhura's party.

"Report," he snapped the moment he stepped into the Bridge.

Sulu was standing near the Science station, watching over Renseb's shoulder. At the Captain's demand, he looked up.

"Captain, I believe we've found that Orion cutter."

"Is that so?" Kirk asked, coming over.

"Yes, sir," Renseb said with confidence of either all knowing or a very young man. "The warp signature correlation is 87 percent."

"As high as it gets in this mess," Sulu said. "The physical parameters also correspond to what we've been able to measure. It's him, all right."

"Good work, Lieutenant," Kirk said excitedly. "What's its position?"

"Actually, there's the problem, sir. He's well inside Orion space."

"Strangers can enter the Bordering zone, Mr. Sulu."

"Yes, sir, but he's not headed for the Bordering zone, as a matter of fact, he's headed in the opposite direction. We've run some calculations on his course and trajectory, and we believe his destination is Origas."

"Origas?" Kirk asked bewildered, remembering a memo he got from Spock a couple of months ago, regarding new intelligence information on the Orion space. "But that's a military training base. That makes no sense, not much profit there." He frowned, searching for a way to put the puzzle together. "Lieutenant," he tapped Renseb on the shoulder. "Were we able to identify the ship's owner?"

"Yes, sir, we've only just received positive identification from Starfleet HQ."

"Put it on screen."

An image of a rather ugly looking Orion appeared on the main view screen, accompanied by several scanty notes.

"That's him," Kirk nodded somberly. "The one who'd been in the bar. Risa Tork," he read from the screen. "Owns property on Atleas and Oregas. Known military supplier."

"Military? What would he want with four women?" Renseb asked bewildered.

Both Kirk and Sulu glanced at him, then at each other.

"I wouldn't care to find out," Kirk said, and ordered briskly. "Page Mr. Scott to the Bridge."

The Chief Engineer looked dark as a sea storm, as he strode into the Bridge grumpily.

"Mr. Scott," Kirk turned to him, with a certain glimmer in his eye that the Engineer had come to be extremely wary of. "Can you shield one of our shuttles so that it can elude general scans?"

Scott frowned, disliking the direction his answer was probably going to take them.

"Aye, but it won't make ye undetectable," he said. "It's not exactly a cloaking device."

"Yes, I know that, Mr. Scott, but even partial disguise would be most welcome."

"Ye ain't planning to take a shuttle into the heart of Orion space?" Scott asked, suspecting the answer. "It'll be suicidal."

"That's why I'm asking for special protection, Scotty," Kirk explained with a boyish grin. "I will also need a field transporter aboard, installed and operational."

It seemed like the Captain managed, without much difficulty, to find the straw which broke the camel's back.

"Captain!" Scott practically exploded with indignation. "A shuttlecraft can't generate that much power to support a field transporter! Ye're asking me to make it heavier by six to seven tons, which will only make the energy consumption worse, and then to install a beastie that'll want double as much as it's producing! Ye can't do things like that without a magic wand!"

"You can – with an additional power generator."

"Sure, as it'll only overload two thirds of the shuttlecraft's systems, why the bloody hell not?"

"I have utmost confidence in your abilities, Mr. Scott," Kirk stated in a tone of voice that suggested immediate compliance. "You'll find a way to make it work. I will absolutely need this shuttle by 1200."

For a moment, Scotty merely stared at him, quite indescribable expression on his face. Finally, he said, "Aye, sir. But I'll probably have to rig it off every other bit of equipment, including navigation and shields."

"If we run into an Orion cruiser, shields won't help anyway," Kirk shrugged carelessly. "As for navigation, I'm taking Mr. Sulu here with me as a pilot. I trust you can fly around a couple of stars without a prompt from the computer, Lieutenant?"

Sulu grinned broadly. "Absolutely, sir."

Kirk turned to the Engineer with an apologetic smile. "Looks like a checkmate to me, Scotty."

"Aye," the Engineer sighed heavily. "But ye'll need more than a shuttle to rescue our distressed damsels on a planet full of Orion pirates."

"I was just about to take care of that," he pressed a com button. "Bridge to Sick Bay."

In an interval of a second, two voices answered the same call.

"Sick Bay, Reese here."

"Sick Bay, Stein here."

Kirk rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Don't those guys ever sleep?" Scotty muttered on his way to the turbolift.

"Uh-"

"Er-"

"Never mind," Kirk said quickly. "Gentlemen, I need to look as an Orion for the next couple of days. Any ideas how this can be done?"

There was a definite pause, as his request sank in, and then the intercom exploded with words.

"Oerelian pectin for skin, and –"

"Are you kidding? It's toxic! No, I think Gemsha powder intravenously, cosparin for the muscles -"

"Cosparin? That'll kill him!"

"I suppose you'd suggest _lemadine_?"

"Of course I would, and -"

"Well, for your information, it won't last because of the _Sorovsky effect_ –"

"I've never seen a Sorovsky effect coming out of a _reasonable_ dose of any hypobolic, and lemadine is the most harmless -"

"Gentlemen!" Kirk had had enough. "I want a yes or no answer," he declared into a frightened com. "Can either of you do it, without making me wish to decompress the entire Sick Bay section, and throw you both into outer space so that you can argue there until the hell brakes loose?"

The silence was much more pronounced this time, and then a cautious voice said:

"Yes, sir."

"Good," Kirk sighed with relief. "I'll be down there in ten minutes. Kindly get ready. Kirk out."

He looked at a grinning Sulu with a menacing glimmer in his eyes.

"I swear to God, when McCoy's back, I'll make him share quarters with those two idiots. Perhaps it'll be a lesson to him when he chooses his interns next time."

"But the Doctor didn't choose them," Sulu said, trying and failing to suppress a laugh.

"I don't give a damn. Now, Mr. Sulu, borrow Mr. Scott's magic wand and get ready to turn into a star chart, but make sure Mr. Reilly plots a convenient rendezvous course for the _Enterprise_ before we leave."

"Aye, sir."

"You have the Bridge. I'll be in Sick Bay."

"Imagine what he'll do to them if his skin looks blue instead of green," Renseb said as the turbolift doors swooshed close behind the Captain.

"Oh, that won't be so bad," Sulu replied dismissively. "Imagine what he'd do to the Doctor."

--

"Now, let me get this straight," McCoy, still fuming, pressed on making Sanaya step back again. They were in a small room, which was connected with the test chamber, from where they were supposed to monitor the ordeal. Batim was there, too, but at the moment he was standing at the farthest wall, leaning on it carelessly, as if trying to demonstrate that everything currently happening had absolutely nothing to do with him. The Doctor, on the other hand, was quite beside himself by the rules that the Chancellor had just explained to him. "He is going to enter this maze where you can't see a thing because of that blasted fog of yours, trying to find his way through it, and in there with him there going to be some mixture of a rhino and a bullterrier attacking at will – and he can't defend himself?"

Sanaya sighed heavily, realizing that in her subconscious retreat she had come to the opposite wall, and there was no more room for movement.

"Yes. That is the essence of the test, Doctor. There are weapons, all sorts, in the labyrinth, but if he uses even one of those, even to save his own life, he's going to fail."

"But the beast will attack him regardless of whether he uses a weapon or not?"

"Of course. Fogrex is a beast of prey and this one hadn't been fed for a week."

"But then how can Spock survive if he's not allowed to fight back?"

"He _is_ allowed. It's his choice. But if he places his own survival higher than his devotion to peace, the test will show it. The beast will be examined afterwards, and if it has so much as a scratch-"

"The _beast_ will be examined?!" McCoy yelled outraged. "And you call yourselves civilized people? What kind of civilization is that?"

"Our kind," Sanaya said coolly. "We don't force you to take the test, Doctor. We didn't invite you here. You are the ones that petitioned us."

"Yes, but..." He fell silent, realizing suddenly how futile his objections sounded. There was clearly no point in reminding the Chancellor that the petition in fact was made to help _the Calliopeans_. She was right, nobody forced them to stay, except perhaps for their own morality. When a child misbehaves, McCoy thought bitterly, you don't walk out on him, even if he's screaming for you to leave.

"These monitors," Sanaya was saying meanwhile, indicating two huge screens on the wall, "are showing the map of the maze. When your friend and the fogrex enter, we'll see them in temperature-detecting graphic."

"Why can't we just see what's happening inside?"

"The fog pretty much makes that impossible," Sanaya explained. "Don't worry, our technology has never failed to present us with an accurate picture. It's using both infrared and multilayer scanners. It's very precise. Ah, here comes your friend."

On the monitor, in the left upper corner, a wide spot appeared, glimmering in tones of blue and gold.

"Curious," Sanaya said. "Mr. Spock's blood composition must be quite interesting. Usually the tested appears in red and green."

"Like that?" McCoy pointed at another spot, coming from the opposite direction.

"Yes, that's the fogrex," Sanaya nodded. "It has begun."

It was an excruciating show to watch. As the spot representing Spock made its slow progress along the corridors, evidently feeling its way, the fogrex spot moved rapidly toward him.

"It can see in the fog," McCoy realized in horror. "It's not fair."

"This isn't about what's fair, Doctor," Batim said from behind. "I did warn you to refuse to take part in this barbaric insanity."

"As you did," Sanaya said coldly.

"Of course, I did," the Commissioner replied, unabashed. "If your people don't want to live, it's your problem. But I do value my life, so thanks, but no thanks."

The information lingered for a moment at the periphery of the Doctor's mind, but at the moment, he couldn't spare it much thought. His attention was focused entirely on two glimmering colored spots on the screen, closing on each other fast. In a long heart breaking second, they collided.

McCoy half expected to hear something, but, of course, no sound was able to escape the maze, even if either the beast or Spock made some. The red-green spot moved away as rapidly, as it attacked. The blue-and-gold remained still for a moment longer, than started to move again, a faint trace of silver following it like a tail.

"Oh my God, he's bleeding," McCoy realized, interpreting correctly the image they were receiving.

"It is a violent fogrex," Sanaya noted grimly. "I was hoping they would choose another specimen.

He peered at her, but, with great effort, refrained from speaking. The Spock spot made a right turn, ending up in a dead-end, and then headed back. The silver trail vanished almost entirely, as the Vulcan must have managed to stop the bleeding.

'For how long?' McCoy thought, watching with alarm as the fogrex spot started to circle on its prey again. If only he had a chance to talk to Spock before the test started... But they were separated instantly after their audience with Sanar was concluded, and the Doctor hadn't seen the Vulcan ever since. Well, in a way, he was seeing him now.

Spock made a left turn, which led him to another point where the paths split. He stopped, clearly weighing his options, and the beast chose that very moment to attack again. Two spots blurred and shivered for an infinite instant, and then the red-and-green moved away, leaving the blue-and-gold pulsing in an erratic rhythm, sending waves of colors around itself. It took Spock a much longer time to start his way again. His spot was moving in an aureole of distressing color emissions, and it was progressing very slowly along the corridors of the maze.

After hitting another dead-end, however, Spock evidently discovered the pattern in the corridors' structure and used it as an algorithm for his journey across it. He'd made half his way to the exit, when the beast attacked him again. This time, the two spots were merged for so long, it seemed like the end of it. Finally, though, the fogrex moved away, leaving a shallow and thin shadow of blue-and-gold spot behind. It was motionless.

'No,' McCoy thought in a sudden upsurge of panic. 'Please, no. He can't die in there. How can I ever tell Jim?'

Kirk had just lost Gary and he believed that he failed Spock somehow, too, for in his opinion, there was no other reason for the Vulcan to refuse to become his first officer. More importantly though, he sent Spock away when he should have gone himself. McCoy shuddered when he thought of how Jim would feel if Spock died now, on this mission.

And as for Spock himself, well, infuriating his behavior might have been, McCoy simply could not believe he was a bad person. Not after the Doctor witnessed him making the petition that day, not after watching him showing obvious concern for Jim back on the ship. He denied it, and he tried to hide it, but McCoy had spent too long a time watching people developing all sorts of relationships in a compact environment of a starship not to recognize the most simple one when he saw it. True, Spock's behavior toward Jim was unthinkable lately, especially when the latter had been that vulnerable, but McCoy had a certain gut instinct telling him it wasn't all that simple.

It wasn't just a regret of losing _a_ life he was feeling, watching the monitor. Quite surprisingly to himself, he realized he would regret losing this particular life much more than could be expected.

"Is that it?" he asked in a hoarse voice, his eyes burning holes in the monitor. "Are we just gonna watch him die now?"

"He has to come out of the maze on his own, Doctor," Sanaya answered quietly. She didn't look happy either, but that was hardly enough for McCoy, who felt a most powerful urge to strangle her.

"Look," she said suddenly. "He's moving again."

Indeed, the blue-and-gold spot, blurred and somewhat washed out, started to move through the maze again. It was an excruciatingly slow progress, with often stops, each of which made McCoy curse nervously. The beast was close to him, but strangely decided not to attack again. It was, however, following Spock's steps precisely, evidently waiting for him to fall.

"The moment he stops again, it will kill him," Sanaya whispered, looking pale and anxious. "He can't stop again."

"He can hardly move," McCoy objected tensely. "He's too severely wounded," he turned to look at the Chancellor. "Do you even know how unusual his physiology is? If he does manage to come out of there, he's likely to die of blood loss. I can't replicate it – its composition is too complicated, and I don't suppose there are a lot of half-Vulcans around here to donate some. My God, why couldn't you simply say 'yes'?"

She looked at him, but uncharacteristically said nothing. Her eyes were filling with tears that she didn't bother to stop.

"I tried to talk Sanar out of this," she whispered sadly. "I really tried, Doctor."

Apparently, Spock realized as well that he couldn't afford another stop, for he continued to slowly walk towards the exit. His algorithm seemed to be correct, he didn't make another wrong turn and was now on a straight line to freedom. But could he make it? McCoy wondered, feeling helpless and frustrated. Could he hold on even for an instant longer? The fogrex stayed with him as if glued to its prey.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the barely visible, faint-green by that time, spot came to the border of the map. In a moment, they heard a hissing sound of the doors being open in the next chamber.

Both McCoy and Sanaya rushed forward, pulling the prisoner of the maze into safety. The Doctor caught a glimpse of a horrible chap, stained in green blood before the doors closed. His attention, however, was focused entirely on the Vulcan.

Spock was a mess. His uniform was torn to pieces, the fabric was soaking with blood. As soon as he realized he was out of the labyrinth, he slipped into unconsciousness, which, in McCoy's opinion, was lucky.

Moving practically at warp speed, the Doctor administered several hypos, and started to carefully remove the remains of Spock's clothing to get a clear view of the wounds.

"I need a stretcher in here now," he said, without looking at Sanaya. "We need to get him to a hospital."

"I'll make the arrangements," she said hastily.

"The arrangements?" McCoy stared at her incensed. "Why couldn't you get ready before this crazy hunt even began?"

"Because he was not expected to survive, Doctor," Batim spoke from behind her. "The Chancellor knows that."

"Well, he won't, if somebody doesn't move right now!" McCoy yelled at them, well past caring for diplomacy.

Sanaya disappeared without another word, in one sparkling move, calling out for her assistants at the top of her lungs. Batim, however, remained standing in the doorway, watching the Vulcan's pale face, as McCoy continued to treat his wounds. That was a desperate battle, and it was clear to anyone even without a medical degree, that Spock's chances of survival were more of a theoretical area.

"His sacrifice won't be in vain," Batim promised pompously. "I'll make sure his family knows that."

"He's not dead yet!" McCoy snapped angrily, without sparing him a glance.

"Whatever you say, Doctor," the Commissioner shrugged. "I'm leaving for Earth as soon as I receive the permission for you to start working on the vaccine. If you need anything in the meantime-"

"I need you to get the hell out of here!" the Doctor shouted furiously.

"As you wish."

"Damn this man," McCoy muttered, giving Spock another shot of tri-ox. "Damn these crazy people, who'd rather kill than let anyone help them. Damn you, Mr. Spock, why did you have to go along with it?" he sighed, searching his kit for another bandage. "And damn me, if I let you die on my hands. D'you hear? Don't even dream about it!"


	5. Chapter 5 Orion Nights

**Note: **Rubindium is borrowed from "Prime Directive" by Judith & Garfield Reeves-Stevens. Hope they don't mind.

**Chapter 5**

**Orion Nights**

"Any luck?" Uhura asked Quaint, as she returned from the crowded lounge after finishing her dance.

Quaint shook her head wordlessly, though Uhura did see her take some time after the dance was over to talk to some of the clientele. They had been entertaining Tork's guests for the fourth night in a row, awaiting their enigmatic customer. None of them was able to find a way to penetrate the house's defense perimeter, though regardless of what it personally demanded of them, all four tried very hard.

"I hate them," Uhura hissed through gritted teeth, watching the eager audience throw dirty looks and shout scabrous jokes at Rand, who was the focus point of their attention for the moment. "All of them. So ugly, so repugnant. I could barely make myself dance instead of attacking them tonight. I still don't know how to force myself to do it again. If not for the damn implant..."

"Be happy it's just the dancing they want for now," Quaint told her tiredly, pushing the locks of dark-brown hair out of her face. Something in her lifeless tone made Uhura take a closer look at her.

"Jess, are you all right?"

Quaint laughed sardonically, straightening up and leaning against the wall.

"I'm as far from being all right, as I am from my lab," she said, her laugh dying out. A haunted expression crept into her eyes as she met Uhura's gaze. "I don't know how much longer any of us can take it, Ny. If the Captain does indeed plan to come to our rescue, he'd better hurry, because I just don't know how much more we're going to be able to hold on."

"You didn't like it when Janice told Chris that Captain Kirk would do anything to save us," Uhura recalled. "You don't trust him?"

"I do trust him," Quaint sighed. "But I can't just sit put and wait like some goddamned princess in a bastion. Sorry," she waved her hand dismissively, underlining her own dissatisfaction with her language. "It's just - I've been winning quite a lot of titles over the years for being ingenious in one area or another – why can't I think of something to get us out of here? We've gathered so much valuable information, and we can't find a single way to report it. If Spock were here, he'd come up with a solution."

Funny, Uhura thought sadly, as the true abyss of her friend's frustration with herself was getting clearer to her. It was the first time she'd heard Jessica call Spock by his name, without attaching a 'Mr.' or 'Commander' to it. That made the _Enterprise's_ Communications Officer frown, as such slips were not in Jessica Quaint's character. Their shipmates used to tease her about her apparent sympathy towards her commanding officer too much for her liking as it was, making her extra careful. If she stopped caring what people might think of her the way she usually did, that was a really bad sign.

"You don't know that," Uhura said softly, laying her arm around Quaint's shoulders, trying to reassure her. "Besides, if Mr. Spock were here," she made a point of looking them both from head to foot in their miniscule dancing costumes, "he'd look pretty silly to begin with."

Quaint laughed, this time with long forgotten sincerity.

"Your turn," Rand came over, panting. "Tork said just one more for tonight."

"I'll do it," Quaint said, visibly collecting herself.

Rand caught her by the arm. "You might want to pay attention to the guy in the far corner, he's tried to get me sit down with him for about five times. Doesn't say anything, but his hands are worse than sprout's tentacles," she shivered at the recollection, revulsion creasing her lovely features.

"I'll watch out for him," Quaint nodded. "Thanks, Jan."

But she didn't. With growing concern, Uhura and Rand watched as she passed the disturbing stranger specifically several times, playfully touching him and eluding his own touch as he tried to catch her.

"What the hell is she doing?" Rand muttered, as Christine walked over to them, having been released by Tork, who made her work as a bartender that night.

"What's going on?" she asked, looking from one concerned face to another.

"I think Jessica's in trouble," Uhura said, squeezing her fists so hard, her nails cut the tender skin. "Oh God, look."

The stranger that had bothered Rand so much, waved to Tork, who came instantly to his side. Nodding at the dancing woman, he produced a shiny little crystal out of his pocket, holding it for the other Orion to see.

"Rubindium," Uhura whispered aghast. And as both Chapel and Rand were staring at her questionably, she hastened to explain as simply as she could at the moment, "They were used widely before dilithium for the same purposes. Almost as valuable, and extremely rare."

"Boy, she is in trouble then," Rand said in a horrified voice. "I can't see Tork being able to refuse such an offer."

She was proved right momentarily, as the short Orion nodded, snatched the crystal out of the stranger's hand and walked over to Quaint. Just as she finished her dance with a spectacular move much to the audience's appreciation, Tork caught her by the arm, and although it looked like an innocent touch, the three women knew only too well that he gripped her at the very spot the implant was hidden beneath the skin. The message of the gesture was clear: obey, or I'll hurt you.

Quaint, however, offered no resistance, not even a frown, walking obediently after her master, who put her, with a silky smile, into the stranger's waiting arms, as the Orion girls dissipated between other patrons. This was the time when the humans customarily left, as they were so far allowed to, unwilling to witness a most distasteful scene, but, at this moment, neither of them was able to move.

"We've gotta do something," Christine said urgently, watching the man's hands sliding up and down the smooth bare skin of Quaint's spine, like snakes, as he whispered something to her ear.

"What would you have us do?" Uhura hissed, her own helplessness making her angry. "Tork's raised the barrier for the night. We can't even get in there."

"We can't just-" Christine fell silent, as the stranger, still having his arms around Quaint, rose to his feet, pulling her with him. He turned out to be not as tall as the rest of the Orions, too; perhaps it was this exactly which had won him their master's sympathy. Getting an approving nod from Tork, he led her through the painted curtain out of the room. Just as the curtain was about to hide her from view, Quaint looked back, straight towards where she knew Uhura was standing, and winked.

Chapel stared after them dumbstruck; Rand hid her face in her hands. Uhura, on the other hand, was frowning, her lips moving slightly, as if she was talking to herself.

"Let's go," she said suddenly. "We'd better be where we're supposed to be."

"What?" both Chapel and Rand looked at her, equally bewildered.

"I might be wrong," she said, "but I don't believe Jess is in trouble anymore. In fact, I think we're all about to be leaving this wonderful place."

"What makes you say that?" Rand stared at her.

An enigmatic smile made its way slowly to the surface of Uhura's eyes.

"Oh, nothing really. I've just remembered that we still use rubindium in our transporters."

--

Late in the Calliope's night, McCoy finally was able to say that his patient was out of immediate danger. With the medical equipment procured from the wreckage of the shuttle, the Doctor managed to repair most of the damage, though naturally he had no substitute for Spock's blood. It was, however, a minor discomfort compared to the wounds McCoy had to treat.

Sighing heavily and feeling immensely tired, McCoy sat down beside Spock's bed for a moment, watching the readings, his tricorder was gathering, arrange in a peculiar pattern. McCoy hoped desperately it was the Vulcan Healing Trance he'd read about, because if it wasn't than such readings could only stand for a deep coma. The Doctor stared at the pale face, stricken and impassive as always, and yet so vulnerable at the moment, it was eerie.

"I barely know you," McCoy muttered aloud, being too tired to care. "And already I don't like you. But I won't let you die on my hands, you hear?"

He decided to spend the night in the same room, not trusting any local assistance he might be offered. With Spock's hybrid physiology he didn't quite know what to expect himself, much less was willing to let anyone less competent take over.

He woke up suddenly, about an hour before the dawn. It was clear to him at once something was wrong, but even the huge amount of adrenaline had to fight with his exhausted body for a couple of seconds, before he could think straight.

Spock moaned.

Springing to his feet, McCoy ran a scanner over him. Whether Spock had been in a Healing Trance or in a coma before, he was there no longer. His readings started to get completely erratic, he appeared restless and feverish.

Cursing, as he had to feel his way rather than rely on precise medical knowledge, McCoy injected him with a sedative in combination with analgesic, for the pain indicator was way off the scale.

"I hope its bites weren't poisonous," McCoy grumbled, watching the readings getting slightly better as the medicine started to work in Spock's system. "Not that anyone would have cared to warn me."

"I'm sorry," Spock muttered suddenly, giving McCoy a start. For a moment, he thought the Vulcan came to consciousness and was talking to him, but it became clear in a moment, that it was not the case. "Jim... I am sorry... I know he was... your friend..."

"Oh good God," McCoy stood back, gazing at the Vulcan without really seeing him. Spock's brisk delirious words made a number of things clear to the Doctor at once in one overwhelming stroke of insight.

First of all, Spock was hardly as unfeeling as he tried to show, if his guilty conscience made this particular thought emerge when he was in this extremely weakened state. Secondly, he'd done what needed to be done, but was feeling guilty to some truly unimaginable degree about it. Quite illogical, McCoy thought with a wry smile, but very human. Thirdly, he seemed to be on first name basis with Kirk, which was something the Captain forgot to mention when he was talking to the Doctor. To McCoy, that alone spoke volumes. He knew, Jim might have seemed like an image of walking openness, but he was in fact very picky about those he let in on his private side. It also explained why Spock's refusal to be his second-in-command hit him so hard. And speaking of this refusal, McCoy had a very good idea now as to what made the Vulcan do this.

Damn you, Gary, he thought abruptly. Even from the grave you manage to ruin things. Now feeling guilty himself for thinking ill of the dead, McCoy hastily returned his attention to the present. He sighed with relief, seeing Spock's readings returning back to their crazy 'normal' pattern. Hopefully, the rest of the night would pass in peace.

He didn't feel like going back to sleep, though, and risking leaving his patient alone for a few minutes, walked out of the room in order to find some coffee, or whatever substitute Calliopeans used for it.

As he walked into the parlor, a tall figure appeared soundlessly directly in his way, startling him. He stepped back instinctively, only to realize it was Sanaya who surprised him.

"Madame Chancellor," he stumbled, trying as best he could not to curse out loud.

"Doctor McCoy," she said, straightening her sparkling clothes in an unnecessary, but automatic gesture, which gave away her nervousness. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"That's all right," he said, not knowing what to make of her presence here. Then, suddenly realizing, he asked, "What is the word then?"

"The word," she replied, looking at her shoes for a moment, "is congratulations to all of us. The beast is unharmed."

"That's a relief," McCoy couldn't help, but put in a sarcastic note. "I've been really worried."

Sanaya looked at him with a peculiar mixture of reproach and regret in her eyes, perceiving his grim humor and conveying her sympathy for it. Evidently, more urgent things were on her mind, for she let the matter drop.

"How is Mr. Spock?" she asked in a strained voice instead, watching the Doctor warily.

McCoy made a second successful attempt not to swear; his expression, though, changed from sulky to positively sour.

"I wish I knew," he said. "He's stable for the moment. I've repaired the damage to arteries and organs, but he had lost a great deal of blood. If he were human, I'd say he'll make it, but then, if he were human, it wouldn't have been this complicated."

She listened to him with utmost attention; a single line erupted on her clean forehead, creating the air of deep and sincere concern on the Chancellor's face.

"Is he going to be all right?" she asked.

McCoy sighed, without bothering to hide his frustration. After all, he was exhausted. One could hardly blame him for the lack of manners under these circumstances.

"If he wakes up any time soon, I'd say he must be. But I can't make any predictions now; I need to see how coherent he's going to be."

She nodded silently, and stood there for a moment without saying anything. Just as McCoy started to wonder what he was supposed to do, she met his gaze again.

"Actually, I came here to tell you that my brother had given you his permission to proceed with your research."

"You came to tell me that – at this hour?" he asked without thinking, letting his bewilderment speak out for him.

To his surprise, Sanaya blushed, but composed herself quickly.

"As Mr. Spock had said in his dramatic address, my people are on the verge of extinction, Doctor," she stated sadly and determinately, with strange glimmer in her eyes. "There is hardly a moment to lose."

He nodded, just as perplexed, but decided not to push it. He was a doctor, not a diplomat, after all.

"You can work right here, at the hospital," Sanaya continued with newly found confidence and authority. "We will provide you with everything you need for your research, as long as we are able to, anyway. You can count on the assistance of any person you like, our specialists will be available to help."

"Thanks," McCoy nodded again, somewhat skeptically, "but, right now, I believe I have everything I need. I will start to work immediately."

"Thank you," she said with vehemence of sincere gratitude so natural for her. "Don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything."

"I will," he promised, and as she was clearly waiting for something else, he added, "Thank you."

She hesitated for a couple of long seconds, making him squirm nervously under her stare, and then nodded and left. McCoy sighed with relief; he was hardly an expert in governmental affairs, much less did he feel any certainty when women were concerned.

"Damn it, Jim," he muttered under his breath, "this is definitely your cup of tea."

He wondered briefly about his friend's current frame of mind, but dismissed the disturbing thought quickly in view of his own recent troubles. Sanaya was right; there was hardly any moment to be lost in vain.

--

Still without a word, he led her further on along the dark corridor, until they reached a dimly lit room, where everything was prepared for the guests' comfort. As the door swung shut behind them, he turned her around and covered her lips with his own, kissing her passionately, while his hands made a most wonderfully seductive tap-dance down her body, barely covered with stripes of fabric and metal. Quaint didn't resist. In fact, she was feeling so light-headed, she almost got carried away, returning some of his kisses with equal fervor.

Suddenly, the lights went dimmer, so that the two people in the room could barely see each other's silhouettes. The man interpreted this as some sort of signal, and let his hands drop, stepping back from her.

"No," Quaint whispered, embracing him again. "Not until he turns the lights off completely."

He acknowledged her words with a nod, pulling her close without hesitation, and renewing his maddening actions. Jessica realized she was going to need all her self-control and willpower, for the heat emanating from him was genuine, and she could do nothing to prevent her own body from responding in kind.

She started praying silently to whatever deity that might have been listening to make Tork hurry up. One more minute of this exquisite torture, and she would not be able to look him in the eye ever again.

The darkness finally fell over them as a long-desired blessing. They let go of each other instantly, as if the touch burnt.

"Are you sure the detectors are off now?" he asked quietly, his slightly hoarse voice sounding like music to her ears.

"Yes, sir," she whispered back. "I've seen Tork do it every night. He makes sure everyone is properly... engaged, and then only watches those couples he likes."

"Looks like you and I didn't impress him."

"We've been too boring for that."

"Boring?" he asked in amused amazement. "Aren't your standards a little high?"

"I didn't say _I_ was bored, sir."

"No, Lieutenant," his hand found her shoulder effortlessly in the darkness and squeezed it briefly. "Neither was I," he cleared his throat. "I'm really sorry about all this. Please believe me, I meant no disrespect. If there only was another way-"

"Captain, I'm so happy to see you, I could have - I mean, thank you for coming after us."

"We'd better get to the others. Here, take it," he waited until she found his hand and the device he was offering her. "It's-"

"-a magnetic resonator," she said with delight.

"A _modified_ magnetic resonator," Kirk corrected her, somewhat smugly. "Compliments of Mr. Scott. Not only will it help us open the doors, its work won't be detected. So as long as we avoid the guards, we should be fine. You do know the way I hope?"

"Affirmative. Follow me."

They crept silently through the dark house, trying not to pay attention to all sorts of sounds Tork's guests were making in their private rooms. Quaint led the way confidently, barely preventing herself from singing happily. From the moment she first looked at the man Rand was talking about, she felt he looked familiar, even though his skin was grey-green like everybody else's, and he was trimmed and dressed as an Orion. She couldn't get rid of persistent feeling, so she swayed around him, trying to make sure. When she saw a rubindium crystal, she prayed for Tork to agree to a private meeting, because in an astounding dawn of realization, it all became so clear to her – she wanted to laugh.

She stopped just around the corner to the room where Tork kept the humans, and waved for Kirk to come closer.

"There's always a guard in front of our door, Captain," her whisper was barely audible.

He nodded silently and motioned her to stay put. She watched him crawl forward and straighten up soundlessly. Carefully, he peered around the corner. The next moment, he jumped out of her sight. Quaint heard a dull indefinite sound of a falling body, and came over warily, in time to see Kirk laying the limb form of their guard to the floor. He looked at her with a grin.

"Would you do the honors?" he gestured towards the door.

It took her quite a while to get through the locking mechanism this time.

"You were indeed special prisoners," Kirk commented, watching her efforts.

"Yes, sir," she replied, mildly annoyed, looking for something to return the jibe. "By the way, Captain, nice outfit."

"I'm glad you approve," he retorted unperturbed. "Here, let me try."

He pulled the resonator, glued to the door, with considerably more force, and the door finally gave up, sliding sideways. Kirk stepped inside the dark chamber warily, only to be instantly knocked off his feet. He felt someone pressing him hard to the floor, and heard a familiar voice saying:

"Give me something to bind this bastard."

"It's nice to see you too, Yeoman," Kirk greeted her sarcastically.

"Captain!" she breathed out half in horror, half in delight. "Oh my God! It was you!"

"As Mr. Spock would say, indeed," Quaint noted dryly, stepping inside the room.

"Are you all right, Jess?" Uhura asked her, while Chapel and Rand helped Kirk back to his feet. He glanced up at her at these words, mischief twinkling his eyes shamelessly.

"I trust I did no lasting damage, Ms. Quaint?"

She bowed her head in momentary stroke of embarrassment.

"Nothing I can't handle, Captain."

"I hope _I_ didn't cause too much damage, sir?" Rand asked awkwardly, gaping at his greenish skin.

"No, but not due to the lack of trying, I take it," he teased. "Is everybody okay? Nurse? Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir," Chapel said happily.

"Fine and ready to go, Captain," Uhura bore her eyes into his for a mesmerizing moment. "It's – it's very good to see you, sir."

"Well, I'm four times as happy, Lieutenant, but we can rejoice later," he said, looking away with visible effort and feeling immensely glad that, attractive as she was, it was Quaint and not Uhura who happened to recognize him in the first place. He wasn't sure he wouldn't still be in that dark room at the other end of the house, were that the case. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"How, Captain?" Rand asked eagerly.

"We have a shuttle in orbit," he told them quietly. "Equipped with a field transporter."

"But the energy consumption, sir?" Quaint looked bemused. "A shuttle can't generate that much power."

"Mr. Scott apparently differs with you on that one. I don't know exactly how he did it, and I can't promise you that it's the safest means of travel, but it'll have to do. Right now, though, we have to get out of the building."

"Why?" Christine asked, confused. "If there's a transporter..."

"We can't beam through the forcefield," Quaint explained. "They won't be able to make a lock."

"Exactly," Kirk nodded. "Now, let's get moving before someone finds out the kids are out of beds."

"Some kids," Rand shook her head after him.

They were incredibly lucky, meeting no one on their way to the only entrance. Most Orion houses were constructed to make an unauthorized passage either in or out difficult to the extreme, as the unfortunate _Enterprise_ crewmembers had recently discovered. As they crept through the dark rooms and corridors, Quaint mused that in time perhaps she would have been able to steal enough materials to create a magnetic resonator of her own, but then, she was explicitly happy, she didn't have to find out just how long a time it would have taken her.

"Put those on," Kirk mouthed to them, passing them a stack of protective eye masks made of flexible dirylinum. "I'm throwing this on three."

He demonstrated them a light grenade.

"One," he said, watching them put on the masks swiftly, and getting ready to cover his own eyes. "Two. Three."

They didn't see the flash, but they felt its power washing over them as a piercing stroke of wind. In a moment they heard six bodies collide with the stone floor heavily. Kirk threw his mask away, and others followed suit.

"Let's go."

Quickly, they ran to the door.

"Hold it, Captain," Quaint said, seeing that he was ready to fire the lock away. "It'll raise the alarm. I think I can track the correct cipher – if you'd lend me your tricorder, please?"

"You keep surprising me, Lieutenant," he said handing the device to her.

"Yes, sir. And you keep keeping me away from the landing parties."

He raised his eyebrows at her audacity.

"Ms. Quaint, it's hardly the time to make complaints regarding your working schedule."

"There's no time like the present, Captain," she objected calmly. "There, I've found it."

And indeed the doors slid open at her command, triggering no alarm.

"Let's go," Kirk urged them out of the doors, expecting to hear the guards coming after them any time.

They ran after him; the cool night wind washing over their faces, as they climbed the hill separating Tork's house from the desert. It wasn't exactly easy to be running in very festive and highly uncomfortable shoes, not to mention less than adequate costumes. Kirk helped them to the top, one by one, and snapped open his communicator, while they held on to each other for warmth.

"Kirk to shuttlecraft," he said, hearing the alarm sounding finally below them.

"Sulu here," came a disembodied voice of the helmsman.

"Mr. Sulu, start the transport immediately."

"Captain, I can only make it three at a time."

"Do it," Kirk said, stepping aside, followed closely by Quaint.

The three shivering silhouettes began to glimmer and melted completely into the night in matter of split seconds.

"I'm ready here, sir," Sulu reported, sounding mildly amused.

"Just a moment, Mr. Sulu," Kirk said and turned to look at Quaint. "Lieutenant, you've done a very good job."

She hung her head and shook it, biting her lip miserably.

"I didn't do anything, sir. I tried and tried, but I couldn't... there was nothing..."

With gentleness granted to him, for this one time only, by their encounter in the back room, he lifted her chin up tenderly, making her meet his gaze.

"You kept them alive," he said. "Alive, and healthy, and," he touched the back of his neck where Rand had hit him, "in good shape. That is as much as anyone could have done, Lieutenant. Knowing that you were kidnapped by the Orions, I didn't dare to hope we would find all four of you safe and sound. Thank you."

She felt tears of relief finally coming up to surface, and was incredibly grateful that the Captain chose that particular moment to order into his communicator:

"Energize."


	6. Chapter 6 No Relief

**Chapter 6**

**No Relief**

"I don't remember giving you permission to sit up," McCoy grunted, but his heart rejoiced at the sight of Spock sitting up in his bed in front of a 3D chessboard he had installed on a small table. Yesterday he could hardly lift his head of the pillow. Opposite him, Bonad was sitting, looking at the board thoughtfully, concentration creasing his innocent features in an amusing way.

"Hello, Doctor McCoy," the boy said politely. "Mr. Spock is teaching me to play chess."

"Yes, I can see that," McCoy told him coming over, his piercing gaze fixed on the Vulcan. "Mr. Spock, do you mind?"

"I cannot see the board when lying," Spock explained reluctantly.

"Oh well, in that case, how lucky we are you don't have to run around it to see it," McCoy noted acidly. "How are you feeling?"

"Adequately."

At this point, Bonad looked up at him, and then at McCoy.

"He is cold, Doctor," he stated helpfully. "Touch his hands – they're like ice. And he's dizzy. He rubs his eyes when he thinks I'm not looking."

"Charming," McCoy snorted. "Spock, lie down immediately, or so help me, I'll tie you to the bed."

To his surprise, the Vulcan complied almost instantly.

"A wise move," McCoy nodded his approval. "I didn't know you're so easy to scare."

"I merely assumed that any sort of dishonorable behavior is to be expected from a man who leaves a child to spy on his patients."

"Well, when we're back aboard the _Enterprise_, and I'll have motion detectors in every biobed again, I won't need to leave _anyone_ to _watch over_ potential troublemakers, such as yourself," McCoy retorted, unabashed, throwing another thermoblanket over him. "I know your type, Spock. The likes of you always think they can fix everything. If Bonad weren't here, distracting you, you'd be halfway down the hall by now, looking for another monster _not_ to fight."

"I can hardly imagine myself being engaged in such irrational activity."

"That only doesn't compliment your imagination."

"Excuse me," Learie stood at the door, looking mildly embarrassed. "Is my brother bothering you, Mr. Spock?"

"No, Learie," Spock answered with unexpected kindness, automatically lifting himself up on his elbows. "I was the one who detained him. Is it time for your midday meal?"

She nodded shyly, and Bonad sprang up to his feet.

"Don't dismantle the board," he looked at Spock pleadingly. "I could come later."

"You are most welcome to do so."

McCoy waited till the children were out of the door, and pushed Spock back on the bed unceremoniously.

"You have a most endearing bedside manner, Doctor," the Vulcan commented dryly. "How much longer does she have?" he asked quietly after a while.

McCoy sighed. He, too, had noted how much paler the girl looked.

"A week at most."

"And Bonad?"

"It's hard to tell. He's been infected much later," he looked at the Vulcan closely. "Now, how _are_ you feeling, Spock? Still cold?"

The blankets moved, indicating a shrug.

"Not to the same extent."

"I'm afraid you'll have to get used to the feeling until your blood cells production returns to normal," McCoy shook his head. "And please, don't sit or, God forbid, stand up until I say you can, okay? Your blood pressure is going ballistic as it is."

"I sincerely believe it is doing no such thing, Doctor."

In the next couple of days, however, neither pleas, nor orders could keep him lying down. McCoy showed his dissatisfaction with his patient's behavior as best he could, but the truth was, he was happy Spock was making such good progress.

Late in the afternoon, as the Doctor came over to check up on his patient, he found that Spock had installed his portable computer that had been lucky enough to survive the crash, and was playing chess against it.

Ever since he heard Spock talking in his swoon, McCoy made a point to find out exactly just what was the problem between him and the Captain. It wasn't out of vain curiosity; it was his duty to determine if the chain of command was functioning at its peak ability. It was also his sincere desire to understand what was eating Jim so badly, it made him completely unrecognizable to his closest friends.

As Spock was obviously feeling better, the Doctor decided that the moment had finally come. He started slow, though.

"Jim said you used to play with him."

Spock glanced up at him briefly.

"Affirmative."

"When was the last time you played?"

"One month, twelve days, sixteen hours ago."

"Just before Delta Vega? That's what I thought. Any idea why you stopped playing?"

Making a rather ill-conceived move, Spock looked at him again. It was illogical to show surprise with the direction the conversation was taking, but it made him wondering nonetheless.

"I believe the Captain had been too busy to spend any time in leisure activities."

"Really?" the Doctor sat up a little straighter. "I don't remember reading about any major emergencies on the _Enterprise_ since then."

"There had been none."

"Then why did you stop playing?"

Realizing he was not going to be allowed to return to his game quietly, Spock decided to try a different tactic.

"Why do you wish to know?"

McCoy shrugged almost carelessly, smiling to himself. Lord knows, he'd been playing these games much longer than the Vulcan.

"I'm curious. And concerned. Strategic games are good for command officers. Help them keep their minds sharp."

"I would not be worried about the Captain's strategic abilities if I were you," Spock replied with a mild hint of arrogant superiority. "He had shown on more than several occasions that he is a most accomplished tactician."

"A little training never hurt anyone. Besides, such an abrupt change in his behavior is a bad signal. Not that bad, but, you know, not good, either."

"I am not sure I can ascertain your meaning, much less agree with it."

"My meaning is quite simple. It's not like Jim to act this way. He's not that whimsical a person."

"I would not use that word to characterize him, either. He is remarkably logical for a human."

McCoy snorted.

"I suppose coming from you, it's a compliment," he shook his head incredulously. "I wonder how would you define your relationship?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's a simple question, Mr. Spock."

"He is my commanding officer."

"Have you nothing to add?"

"I am not sure I understand what you want me to say."

"Spock, do you know what a friend is? Do Vulcans even recognize such a thing?"

Spock realized by then he was being moved most skillfully into a trap, yet could do nothing to avoid it.

"They do," he said finally, frowning in concentration. "But I believe in a different way than humans. We recognize the form of relationship, but not the emotion."

"But it's a good emotion."

"The nature of any emotion is unstable, Doctor. That is why we avoid them all together."

"I must admit, you've got me confused there. How can you recognize the relationship but not the feeling? It's the feeling that's forming it. Sympathy, respect, pleasure you get in each other's company. How can you create a form without substance?"

"I do not believe your description is accurate."

"Have you ever had friends, Spock?"

The Vulcan was silent for a long moment, his face darkening without him noticing.

"There were several... persons, whom I considered to be more than colleagues," he said finally.

"I'm sure if they heard you, they'd be flattered," McCoy chuckled in disbelief. "But you're saying 'were,' Spock. What about Jim?"

"I have no new information since the last time you have asked me that question."

McCoy watched him for a moment, calculating his next move.

"He thinks very highly of you, you know. I have no idea why, but I do wish he wouldn't."

Spock frowned, sensing there was more than an insult in the Doctor's words.

"Please elaborate," he said.

McCoy fixed him with a heavy stare, his eyes narrowed, scheming.

"If he didn't think that highly of you it would have been easier for him to accept what you did regarding Gary Mitchell. It would have been easier to forgive."

Spock said nothing. He felt his whole body going numb, though his exterior remained unchanged. Granted, he had assumed as much himself. Yet, hearing this assumption confirmed from a most reliable source was no light experience. All of a sudden, he felt his control slip by mere bits, as it used to happen when he was a child, taunted by his schoolmates. It's so unfair, he thought. So incredibly unfair. The burning sensation in his chest made him look up and say with a commendable measure of control, which did not hide the long-termed pain behind the question.

"Doctor, how come that by you, humans, it is always the messenger of the bad news who is at fault, never the one who caused it?"

McCoy rolled his eyes, evidently feeling no sympathy towards him.

"Spock, you've told me many times that Vulcans don't have feelings to spare, so forgive me if I don't cry on your account. What you did was necessary, I suppose, but not the way you did it. Gary was Jim's best friend for many years. They'd been through a lot of things together, that means something to us, humans. Yet, not only did you say he was to be eliminated without so much as a warning, you showed no compassion even when he died."

"I felt for him, Doctor," Spock said quietly.

"Yeah? It's interesting to know what. I've heard you hadn't exactly been on friendly terms with him before. Was it possible that you were so quick with your recommendation because of his attitude towards you?"

Spock's face became absolutely still as if instantly frozen.

"Doctor, are you accusing me of murder intent?" he asked in a dreadfully cold voice.

"God forbid," McCoy said almost lightly, but his eyes were surveying the Vulcan with utmost seriousness. "I'm only trying to determine why you and the Captain stopped playing chess."

It was strange – and illogical – but it felt like the air had cleared, just a little bit.

"Why did you not ask him this question?" Spock said more calmly.

"I did. He said pretty much what you did, only in his view, you were the one who was too busy."

"Then we seem to be in agreement regarding the issue."

"In agreement? Like hell, Spock! Even with all your Vulcan emotionless logic, you could tell he was in trouble, couldn't you? Why didn't you talk to him? Why didn't you even once come to him and tell him you're sorry and listen to what he says? He needed someone to be there for him, why did you shut him off?"

"Doctor, I do not have this much experience in dealing with human grief. I did not believe my presence would have brought any consolation, if anything, it could well have been the opposite."

"In other words, you were scared to face him."

"Doctor-"

"Oh, you can deny it all you want. You were scared because you felt guilty about Gary's death. You didn't like him and felt guilty about it, too, and about not feeling sorry that he was gone. You felt even more guilty, because he was Jim's friend, and whatever you started to _not_ feel for Jim wasn't quite the same, was it? You knew you were supposed to share his sorrow, but being this blasted honest, you couldn't do it, and felt even more guilty about that. To cap it all, you felt guilty for _feeling_ guilt in the first place, as it is an inferior human emotion. You know how I know it, Spock? Because if you didn't feel this tremendous and very _illogical_ guilt, you would have taken the promotion to the First Officer – literary over Gary's dead body – without a split second hesitation."

There was a long silence, as the Vulcan stared at him without any particular expression on his face. Then, without any further comment, he returned his attention to the chessboard, as if McCoy wasn't there.

For a moment, McCoy stared at this incredible scene speechless. He had not expected this. He was prepared for the reaction of indignation, denial, even anger, but not this total dismissal as if the subject no longer held any interest for the Vulcan, as if it never had. It was at this very instant, when the Doctor realized for the first time, that the most direct approach was hardly an appropriate instrument when Spock was concerned. He wondered silently if Jim knew this, too. He wondered if he was observing not just a single chess game at the moment, but an intangible second one, using feelings and events for chess pieces, and being played on an invisible board hundreds of light years wide. He wondered, too, if he wished Spock to win or lose in this battle, because he just wasn't sure whether it would be his victory or defeat that Jim would prefer.

--

"Ouch!" Rand exclaimed, and apologized instantly. "Sorry, sir."

"No, I'm sorry, Yeoman," Kirk looked at the implant, encircled in a vacuum container with disgust. "But this thing had to be removed."

She was the last to get rid of the dangerous device with the help of the Captain and a special gadget he made using multiphase scalpel and a sealed intubation tube.

"Thank you, sir," she nodded gratefully. "Now, if you only happened to take some spare uniforms with you..."

Kirk glanced at Sulu in alarm, but the helmsman's expression mirrored his own.

"I'm sorry, Yeoman. We hadn't thought about that."

"Naturally," Rand snorted, moving to sit with her friends and muttering significantly, "Men."

Kirk shook his head, realizing that uncomfortable his female crew members might have been, in their exotic clothing, they actually created a bigger problem for him and Mr. Sulu, representing a constant distraction, and making both men extremely wary about just where they set their eyes in order not to appear disrespectful.

"Does anyone require medical aid?" he directed his question to the shuttle's ceiling.

"Actually, Captain, you do," Chapel said, taking his hand and turning in towards the light. "How did you manage to do that?" she sighed in exasperation, searching the med kit for tissue regenerator.

"That guard had iron jaw," he shrugged, smiling at her. "Are you all right, Nurse?" he asked quietly, noticing that she appeared to be the most shaken of them all.

"Yes, sir," she stated firmly, pointing the regenerating ray at his wrist.

"I guess, McCoy _will_ scold me for mistreating his staff after all."

She smiled gratefully, appreciating his effort to lighten the mood.

"Was there any news from the Doctor, sir?" she asked. "Were they able to do something about the epidemic?"

Kirk's expression darkened momentarily, as he stretched his fingers to test the treatment.

"We don't know," he admitted. "They didn't check in upon arrival to Calliope," (if they had arrived there at all, he added to himself), "And we had no communications ever since."

"That's odd," Quaint said frowning. "That doesn't sound like Mr. Spock."

"No," Kirk agreed grimly, "it doesn't."

"Captain," Sulu called out to him, and something in his voice made Kirk suddenly uneasy.

"What is it, Mr. Sulu?" he asked, coming to his side.

"We have reached the designated rendezvous coordinates," the helmsman reported. "But the _Enterprise_ isn't there."

Bending over his chair, Kirk checked the console for himself, then, looked up at the screen. Nothing, but an even glimmer of stars had greeted him from there.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?"

"Affirmative. I've double checked by Polaris and Sirius."

"Lieutenant," Kirk glanced at Uhura. "If you feel up to it, scan the communications channels for me."

"Aye, sir," she acknowledged calmly, and moved swiftly to take over the communications console. "Scanning, Captain. It's just static."

Without waiting for an order, Quaint sat down to operate the sensors.

"The sensors are at minimum," she complained to no one in particular. "I'm barely picking up a D-class planet with one moon dead ahead."

"That's Neven," Sulu nodded. "The _Enterprise_ was supposed to be orbiting it."

"Captain," Uhura said suddenly. "This static, it's not a natural phenomenon. Someone's jamming all the communication frequencies."

"On this scale?" Kirk wondered incredulously. "Are you sure?"

"Positive, sir. I'm picking up blocking waves of artificial origin."

"What's the source?" he turned to Quaint, but she shook her head in frustration.

"I couldn't tell. It's not only our limited sensor capabilities, Captain, I'm reading a distortion field of some kind at approximately fifteen parsecs of our starboard bow."

"Let's take a look," Kirk said, frowning in concentration. "Move us closer, Lieutenant, and do it slowly."

"Aye, Captain," Sulu nodded. "We can't make rapid movements anyway, not with all those shields."

"That's doing it, all right," Quaint informed them, as the bright orange orb of Neven grew bigger on the viewer. "I'm picking up energy spikes on a wide scale."

"Whatever's been blocking communications, we're closing in on it, too," Uhura said, taking her earpiece out for a moment, and that they could all hear the chaotic cackling of perturbations.

"Slow down, Mr. Sulu," Kirk ordered instantly. "Make us crawl."

"Captain," Quaint exclaimed with sudden urgency, turning to look at him with an anxious expression on her face. "The energy fluctuations are too powerful to be generated even by a planetary power source. They are at least ten points off the scale."

"Then where could they be coming from?"

"The only thing that I can think of," she said grimly, "is a fleet of heavy warships ready to jump into warp."

For a moment, they all turned to look at her. Sulu whistled.

"That's not a prospect I'd fancy," he said.

"Neither would I, but I don't see how it can possibly be anything else."

"Captain, look!" Uhura exclaimed, staring at the viewscreen wide-eyed.

The shuttle, in its cautious slow crawl, had finally come around the planet, and they realized they could no longer see the stars. All the space in front of them was vastly occupied by ships of all sizes and forms.

"My God," Sulu breathed out, terrified. "There must be hundreds of them!"

"There goes your fleet, Lieutenant," Kirk said, no less stunned himself.

"They are Orion," Quaint confirmed gravely. "Only they can be so overloaded with energy."

"Did they see us?" Rand asked, hugging herself in a subconscious gesture of reassurance.

They all looked at the helmsman, but Sulu shook his head helplessly.

"I have no idea."

"Do you think the _Enterprise_ –" Uhura began, but Kirk cut her off firmly.

"We have no way of knowing, Lieutenant. Mr. Sulu, ease us back, carefully."

"I'm trying, sir."

"I think they're going into warp, Captain," Uhura noted. "Look."

Indeed, the Orion ships started to vanish from view one by one.

"They are throwing too much energy into space, the sensors have overloaded," Quaint reported miserably. "We're blind as a bat."

"The communications seem to be clearing up a little," Uhura said. "I'm trying to raise the _Enterprise_. No response," she added after a while.

"Fantastic," Kirk blurted out in frustration. "We've just witnessed the gathering of perhaps the biggest Orion fleet in history, but not only do we have no way of knowing what they're up to, we can't even warn a single person to watch out for them, and my ship is nowhere to be found! Isn't that what they call luck?"

"I beg your pardon, Captain," Quaint said calmly after a pause. "We might not indeed be able to warn anyone, but I believe we do know what they're up to."

Kirk stared at her in surprise. Quaint glanced at Uhura warily, and the Communications Officer frowned.

"I believe Lieutenant Quaint is right," she nodded gravely. "We do know their intentions," she met Kirk's gaze steadily. "But you're not going to like it, sir."

"You needn't worry, Lieutenant," the Captain sighed in bemused exasperation. "I don't expect to."

--

"Hey! What d'you think you're doing?"

Without leaving his seat, Spock turned to peer over at the Doctor who had just walked in, radiant with fair indignation.

"I am analyzing your last sample, Doctor," Spock said calmly, as if talking to a capricious child. "And I am most optimistic."

"You're supposed to be resting now," McCoy fumed, coming over. "You're in no condition to spend the day in front of this thing – you're too weak for that."

"Your assessment skills leave a lot to be desired, Doctor."

"Like hell. You can't recover after a massive blood loss in a week, Mr. Spock, not even aboard the _Enterprise_, much less in this wilderness."

He took out his medical scanner and ran it over his patient, who bore with the procedure stoically, though a mildly exasperated expression was present on his face.

"This 'wilderness' has produced some remarkable artifacts of pictorial art and architecture," he said in a lecturing tone. "I dare say some of those items would have made Moné and Picasso look - unsophisticated."

McCoy frowned, evidently dissatisfied with what the device had shown him, annoyed by Spock's attempt to steer the conversation away.

"Tell me, Mr. Spock, is it against some Vulcan law to be listening to your physician? I mean, is this some kind of reversed logic?"

"'Reversed logic?'" Spock stared at him blankly. "Doctor, if such a thing does exist somewhere within this physical universe, it would have to be an entirely human invention."

"Then, I take it you're just as stubborn, as you are – _sophisticated_," McCoy snapped irritably. "I don't care if this planet's paintings make Van Gogh, Picasso or even your own Solek look like some stupid country cousins; it's extremely _unsophisticated_ in matters of public health. And you're not making it easier to treat you by defying my orders."

"Doctor, I am experiencing neither pain, nor discomfort," Spock said patiently. "I thank you for your professional concern, but, at the moment, I suggest you take a look at the model I have created for the latest sample of the vaccine you had provided. I believe you will find that it is far more worthy of your attention."

"I'm listening," McCoy said grimly. "That'd better be good."

"Observe for yourself," Spock slid back on his chair, allowing the Doctor a better view of his portable computer's screen, where a simulation was in progress. "As you can see, this is the most effective composition as of yet. It is absorbed by the affected organism rapidly, and is delivered almost instantly throughout the body, regardless of the current stage of Prixia. It shows a 57 percent success rate."

"It's not enough," McCoy shook his head, bending over to tap a couple of commands on the console and watching the changes in the simulation. "It's dissipating too rapidly, too. That's why it's only 57 percent effective. If we don't find a way to stabilize the molecules once inside the body, we're still nowhere. Wait," he said suddenly, gazing at the monitor intently. "Did you see this?"

"Indeed," Spock nodded. "That is what caused my optimism."

"Just what was that little devil? It acted like glue, binding the compound together for a moment. If only we could isolate it... But in these conditions it could take weeks."

"I believe there is a faster way," Spock told him, and to anyone with little experience in dealing with Vulcans, his voice might have sounded reassuring. "I have attempted to run an analysis of this agent's comparative composition. As you are undoubtedly aware, human (or humanoid) body produces a number of compounds and elements that are not uncommon to some similar based life-forms – plants, for instance-"

"Spare me the lecture, Spock, I haven't won my medical license in a card game, in case you were wondering," McCoy interrupted him, annoyed. "Did you find a match?"

"Indeed, Doctor," Spock said ever so calmly. "It is, as goes the expression, good news and bad," he worked his console to produce a picture of a peculiar looking flower. It had a double inflorescence – the inner circle was formed by dark-red ominously looking thin petals, while the outer row was almost forget-me-not blue and silky. "This is an _otas_. According to this database, which is quite extensive, it produces the exact compound we need to stabilize the vaccine."

"But this is terrific," McCoy exclaimed, eyeing the flower with delight. "What's the bad news?"

"It does not grow on Calliope," Spock explained. "It only grows on the third planet of the Misty Worlds, Callinah."

"That's your bad news?" McCoy straightened up, looking at him with careless joy. "We'll send a ship to fetch us a huge quantity of these lovelies, and be up and running with the cure in no time."

At this, Spock stood up, facing the Doctor.

"Doctor, perhaps you are unaware that the Calliopeans do not have warp-capable ships at their disposal; they stopped producing them after the Misty Worlds Confederation was formed. At subwarp speed, such a journey will take at least a week. And we do not possess a shuttle any longer."

"Thanks to your brilliant landing technique," McCoy grunted unhappily. The situation seemed indeed grim.

"We should send word to the Federation immediately," Spock said, ignoring the jibe. "Commissioner Batim cannot be that far away yet."

"Are you kidding?" McCoy snorted in disdain. "In his hurry to report _his_ success in negotiations he's probably in Lunaport by now."

"Nevertheless, we should try. I have already contacted Chancellor Sanaya. She is expecting us in the Council Chamber in twenty minutes."

"They have a long-ranged comm unit," McCoy remembered. "We can send a message to Jim."

"We shall send an urgent distress call on all Federation channels," Spock corrected him calmly. "We have been out of contact with the _Enterprise_ for more than two weeks now. We cannot, therefore, safely assume that it is still the closest vessel."

"Whatever you say, just let's get going," McCoy urged him, suddenly agitated. Now that both hope and despair were so closely intertwined within him, he could no longer keep still. "Come on up."

Spock raised an eyebrow at his obvious impatience, but followed the Doctor out of the door without further comment.

They walked to the Misty Council Chamber in silence. By that time, the Doctor was so familiar with the way, having traveled it two times a day for the last week to deliver reports on their progress, that he caught himself wondering how he could ever have imagined getting lost among those brightly lit buildings, sparkling and glimmering in a thousand shades. Spock, apparently, had a photographic memory that could not be affected even by the colorful whirls of chaos around, for his pace was as confident, as the look upon his face.

Had the Doctor not been so invigorated by and preoccupied with the urgency of the task at hand, he would undoubtedly have noticed that the Vulcan walked somewhat stiffly, making a tremendous effort to keep up – and an even greater one not to let this difficulty show. Miniscule drops of sweat emerged on his forehead, giving away some of the strain his body was under, but Spock made no sign he even noticed his own discomfort.

"That is strange," McCoy turned to look at him, as they entered an absolutely still and silent hall. "There was always someone meeting me. And there's no welcome-girl, either. Something's wrong."

Spock knew immediately the Doctor was right, though he preferred not to reflect upon the source of that knowledge. Indeed, too still were the rooms and corridors, in comparison to the usual level of activity.

"The comm's over there, in the back room," McCoy pointed, glancing at his companion hesitantly. Helping themselves to everything they wanted without even asking for permission, much less explaining themselves, was surely not in Vulcan code of honor.

Spock frowned, but started for the room at once, surprising the Doctor.

"We should send the message immediately," he said. "Then we can find out what happened here."

"You'll get no argument from me."

They entered the room, dark and empty. Spock activated the comm unit and proceeded to modulating the frequency, trying to isolate those belonging to Starfleet. McCoy was staring at the control panel, feeling nervous and agitated. At first, he was afraid Spock wasn't going to want to send the message before finding some Calliopean official first, but now the Doctor was anxious because of the delay. Whatever happened to everyone? This couldn't be right.

"I found it," Spock announced, indicating the correct sequence of signals on the screen. He turned on the external transmitter. "This is Priority One distress call. All Federation ships receiving this message, we require urgent assistance. This is Lieutenant Commander Spock of the USS _Enterprise_, currently stationed on Calliope, sector four-nine-five. There is a major health crisis. All ships within range proceed to Calliope immediately. I repeat. This is Priority One distress call."

McCoy listened to him repeating his message two more times; then, Spock set it on automated repeat and locked the console.

"What's wrong?" McCoy asked, watching him frown.

"I am unsure whether we were able to broadcast," he said. "It seems like some sort of interference has just been engaged. It is jamming all frequencies. Curious. I do not believe it is a safeguard against unauthorized entries, such as ours. It is coming from outside."

"Outside?" McCoy asked perplexed. "Outside – as in out of the building?"

"Outside this solar system," Spock told him calmly and repeated, "Curious. It is imperative that we find the Chancellor and inform her-"

He fell silent midword, looking over McCoy's shoulder. The Doctor whirled around to see Sanar standing there. The Ruler's face was white, and splashes of multicolored lights sent by his clothes were staining it like some formidable disease.

"Ruler Sanar," Spock said with concern. "Are you well?"

Sanar shook his head, motioning them out of the cramped room. They followed suit to see Sanaya coming over across the hall, along with a tall fair-haired man they hadn't seen before. Most uncharacteristically, he was dressed not in traditional Calliopean sparkling robes, but some plain dark grey suit without a single glimmering detail. The expression of profound anxiety was present on all faces.

"Doctor, Mr. Spock," the Chancellor addressed them urgently. "We've been looking for you. A terrible thing has just happened. This is our chief of intelligence, Nort. He has just told us that the Orions are imposing a blockade on the Misty Worlds!"

"The Orions?" McCoy exclaimed in shock. "Imposing a blockade?"

"That's right," Nort nodded, watching both outsiders with a fine measure of suspicion. "They have destroyed my ship, I had to leave in an escape pod, and it took me forever to get here, otherwise I would have warned the Council. The Orions have deployed their fleet throughout the whole sector, and we are being most heavily guarded. No ship can get in or out, without them noticing, and they have destroyed two freighters even as I watched."

"But why?" Sanar asked nonplussed. "If they wanted to attack us, they could have done so ages ago. Our defenses are practically non-existent."

"They don't want to attack us," Nort said grimly. "We don't have anything to offer, except-"

"Land," Sanaya said bitterly. "They want our worlds, don't they? And they want them intact."

"All this art and beauty," McCoy looked at Spock, as if the Vulcan was personally responsible for the magnificent creativeness and fine taste of the natives. "They don't want to risk destroying _them_."

"They want to make a resort here," Nort explained darkly. "They know of Prixia, know we're dying. Don't you see, Sanar? They don't _need_ to attack us – only to wait a short time till we die out, and they are setting up this blockade so that there could be no interference."

"So, it's them who's been jamming your communications," McCoy nodded to Spock and then turned to Sanaya, subconsciously choosing her as a leader. "We tried to send a message to the Federation asking for help."

"You _knew_ about this?" Sanar asked incensed.

"No, of course not," McCoy retorted irritably. "What, do you think we work for them?"

"We have established that the component we require in order to make the vaccine effective can be located on Callinah only," Spock explicated calmly. "As your ships have no warp capability, we tried to contact the Federation with an urgent distress call."

"And did you?" Nort asked sharply. "Did you message get through?"

Everyone, including McCoy, looked at Spock with their breaths held. The Vulcan shook his head at this obvious declaration of hope.

"I do not know," he admitted honestly. "There was no interference at first, but there was also – no reply."

"There's still a chance then," Sanaya said. She looked somehow older, and definitely more confident than her brother, who seemed to be completely at a loss of what to do.

"A slim chance," Spock nodded. "Approximately 1 to 2897."

"You had to tell her," McCoy groaned. "What do we do now?"

They all turned to look at him again, and he shrugged, most impassively.

"Now, Doctor, we wait."


	7. Chapter 7 Children's Quest

**Chapter 7**

**Children's Quest**

"Lieutenant," Kirk said slowly after a long pause. "Do I want to know what you all had to do to obtain this information?"

Both Rand and Chapel blushed, but Quaint merely shot him a challenging grin, whereas Uhura smiled sweetly.

"Nothing unworthy of a Starfleet officer, Captain, I can assure you," she said.

"Well, that's a relief. I've been starting to get the idea that you all had Mata Hari for your childhood hero. So, basically, you're saying that the Orion fleet captains decided to seal off a huge area of space for a purpose of -?"

"That's what we're not sure of," Uhura admitted. "They referred to it as a new Warwen Siege."

"But what does it mean?" Sulu asked.

Quaint shrugged helplessly. Suddenly, somebody spoke.

"One thousand years ago, on Orion, there was a town-fortress, which nobody could conquer. Inside, they kept treasures not only of material nature, but also of great knowledge. There was a leader named Jaden, who vowed he would take that town losing no man of his own. And he did – by sending an agent, who poisoned the water supplies. His troops blockaded all the gateways to the town, and waited for everyone inside to die of thirst. There was no one left to offer resistance. The name of the fortress was Warwen."

Everybody turned to look at Nurse Chapel with identical stunned expressions on their faces. She smiled sheepishly.

"How could you possibly know that?" Rand asked aghast.

"Do you remember Tork sent me to serve as a maid for that old fat Orion when we just arrived? He told me. I needed to distract him, and I noticed he likes to tell stories, so I kept asking him and he talked..."

Kirk shook his head in amused exasperation.

"Starfleet Intelligence would be wise to keep tags on you," he remarked with dry humor, and specified, "On all four of you."

"Yeah," Quaint mused thoughtfully. "If we go along with the analogy, we must search for a planet, which holds something highly valuable, but could not be taken by brutal force."

Kirk frowned, an idea forming in his mind, which he hated immediately.

"Were you able to make progressions on their course?" he asked Quaint.

"Very general estimations only," Quaint replied miserably, like a star pupil who wasn't able to do his homework. "Our sensors were in no condition –"

"Captain," Uhura called to him suddenly from her station, listening to her earpiece intently. "I'm receiving what sounds like a Federation distress signal."

"Is it the _Enterprise_?"

"No, it's – it's Mr. Spock, sir!"

Kirk whirled to face her. "On screen."

"Audio only, sir," she shook her head, "and it's pretty garbled."

She switched the control, and in a moment they heard a familiar deep voice of their second-in-command, infiltrated heavily with cackles of static.

"This is Priority One distress call. All Federation ships ... require urgent assist- ... is Lieutenant Commander Spock of the USS... currently ... sector... major ... crisis... All ships within range ... immediately. I repeat. This is Priority One..."

"Lieutenant, see if you can clear that up," Kirk ordered briskly. "I'm going to need his coordinates."

"Priority One distress call," Quaint repeated pensively. "It's enough to put the whole sector on alert. Mr. Spock would not have issued it merely for his own sake, Captain."

"I'm very well aware of that, Lieutenant," Kirk snapped grimly. There was nothing gratifying, after spending so many days guessing whether or not Spock and McCoy were in any trouble, to find out that they actually _were_ in trouble, when he was so explicitly helpless to come to their aid.

"It's no use, Captain," Uhura said. "The transmission stopped at the source shortly after the signal was away. This recording is all we have, sir."

For a moment, Kirk said nothing, weighing his options.

"Any news on the _Enterprise_?" he asked Uhura finally.

"Not precisely, sir. I'm detecting some sort of subspace echo coming from its supposed position –"

"Subspace echo!" Quaint exclaimed empathically. "Captain, the navigational sensors are still operational. We can follow the Orion fleet if we convert them to collect subspace signals instead of star radiation!"

Kirk turned to Sulu dubiously. The helmsman shrugged.

"I suppose it's possible, sir. But we'll be spending considerable amount of time trying to sort those signals out."

"No denying that, sir," Quaint nodded. "But it's still a chance to do something.

"You were saying, Lieutenant?" Kirk turned to Uhura.

"Every warp capable ship is emanating a special signal when its engines are operational. In normal space we refer to it as a warp signature. In subspace it's projecting a sort of its own shadow, an echo..."

"Yes, Lieutenant," Kirk interrupted her impatiently, though not unkindly. "I think we've all studied the basics of warp theory. You said you were detecting the _Enterprise's_ trail?"

"Very distant, sir, but I believe it is the _Enterprise_."

"In that case, let's assume Mr. Scott was unable to make the rendezvous, but still has the control of the ship, and will be looking for us when it becomes possible. Uhura, will we be emanating a distinguishable subspace echo ourselves, if we go into warp?"

Her eyebrows shot up in amazement.

"Captain, we're producing a double amount of energy for a ship this size. When we go into warp, we're going to be 'screaming' all over subspace."

"For those who can hear, though," Quaint added. "I sincerely doubt the Orions will be listening."

"No, they have a fortress to conquer, don't they?" Kirk nodded grimly. "Ms. Quaint, Mr. Sulu. Make your modifications. We're going after the Orion fleet."

"What about Mr. Spock?" Uhura asked quietly. "Aren't we going to find out-"

"We can only deal with one emergency at a time, Lieutenant," Kirk gritted his teeth. "Besides, I have a nasty hunch the Orions have something to do with Spock's troubles."

--

"Commander, I think we got something," one of the technicians manning the security sensors called over to him. "Looks like a Federation ship."

Both Spock and Nort came to look over his shoulder.

"Can you make a positive ID?" the intelligence chief asked.

"No," the tech shook his head. "Not unless Mr. Spock provides more information."

"May I?" Spock said, moving him politely, but firmly out of the way. He issued several commands to the console, and the schematics they were receiving became clearer.

"It is a Federation ship," Spock confirmed confidently. "A starship, to be precise. It appears to be in distress."

"In distress?" Nort repeated bewildered. "You mean, they were not answering _your_ call?"

"We have no way of knowing that," Spock pointed out calmly, and added, surprising everyone, "until we beam over to it."

"Excuse me?" Nort stared at him incredulously.

"Beam over?" McCoy asked, thinking he must have misheard. "They are barely inside the solar system."

"Their course will bring them here in approximately twenty three minutes," Spock told him. "As we have no transmitting capability, and we cannot lose this opportunity, the only logical choice is to beam over there and present our request in person. If I am not mistaken, there is a functioning transporter in Commissioner Batim's mission."

"There is," Nort confirmed at once. "But do you really think it's possible?"

"Oh, it is possible," McCoy said spitefully. "It is possible that he's out of his Vulcan mind."

"In that case, Doctor, I can hardly think of a better companion to join me on this trip," Spock replied with a hint of irony. "Mr. Nort, can you release the security lock in the mission? Doctor McCoy can provide the secondary entering passwords."

The intelligence chief glanced briefly at the Chancellor before responding. "I'll do it right away, Mr. Spock. Doctor?"

"One moment, Mr. Spock," Sanaya said suddenly.

"Madame Chancellor?"

"I wish you the best of luck on your mission," she said, coming closer. "Goodness knows, we need help urgently. But I want to warn you that you can't leave Calliope for a longer time than is necessary to visit a ship in orbit."

His eyebrow lifted slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

"If you wish to help us, you can't leave," she repeated. "You are the one who passed the ordeal. We only trust the Federation, because we trust you, Mr. Spock. If you are not here, we cannot accept any help from your government, even if it does come."

"That's -" McCoy felt at a loss for adequate term and finally settled on: "insane. He's passed your damn test, what else do you want him to do to prove we are trustworthy?"

Sanaya looked at him somberly.

"You misunderstand the meaning of the ordeal, Doctor. By proving his personal devotion to peace to us, Mr. Spock had given us his word to be our guide in this crisis. If he leaves, this word will be broken. My brother will not accept another representative of the Federation after such a betrayal of trust. You are free, of course, to do as you please. I merely warned you about the consequences."

McCoy met Spock's gaze, nodding significantly.

"You should make friends with these people, Mr. Spock. They're as crazy as you are."

"Secure the transporter, Doctor," was all the Vulcan said to him. "Madame Chancellor, I thank you for the timely warning. You can be certain that I will do nothing to jeopardize your world any further."

"Thank you," she smiled gratefully at him.

Throwing a nasty look at Spock, McCoy followed Nort out of the room. Spock returned his full attention to the computer console, taking measurements of the ship's trajectory, in order to calculate the precise moment and coordinates for transport.

"Mr. Spock."

He turned back, to see Sanaya watching him warily.

"Madame Chancellor?"

"You do not believe we are crazy, do you?"

"I believe that every culture lives by its own rules. As a Starfleet officer it is my duty to respect those rules, regardless of my personal opinion of them."

For a long moment, she looked into his eyes, in search of some answers, meeting only calm acceptance in his gaze.

"I would very much like to know your opinion of our rules, Mr. Spock. Someday."

He bowed his head politely. "Someday."

Twenty three minutes passed in no time, in McCoy's opinion. As the Doctor stood upon the transporter pad, watching Spock making the last minute calculations, he could hardly hold his anxiety in check.

"Spock, are you sure you can think of nothing better than hijacking a passing starship?" he asked.

"Do not worry, Doctor," the Vulcan replied calmly, taking the pad next to him. "The risk of your atoms being scattered across the galaxy will be only by fifteen percent higher this time."

"Just a damn sec-"

"Energize."

--

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," McCoy declared incredulously. The cadets gazed upon him with impassive attention as if trying to ascertain the reason for such an illogical action on his part. "The _Intrepid_ is not a training ship."

"Indeed," Spock confirmed calmly. "However, every Starfleet vessel operated by Vulcans is made available once a year for a cadet training cruise."

"But what's a training ship doing in the war zone? You," McCoy pointed at the young Vulcan who greeted them on board, "stop staring at me like I'm a Denevian slime devil. How in blazes did you end up in this God forsaken place?"

The Vulcan continued to look at him with polite inquiry in his eyes, until Spock prompted him:

"Cadet, unless you want to be charged with insubordination, I suggest you answer your superior officer's question."

Even through the vastness of his amazed indignation, McCoy could spare enough attention to note how Spock's voice suddenly started to ring with authority. Other Vulcans in the room apparently noticed it, too, for a wave of stiffened movements ran across them, making them stand a little straighter and look more coherent. 'Now, why doesn't that happen when I talk to them?' McCoy wondered briefly.

"My apologies, Commander, but I did not understand the question."

McCoy rolled his eyes and glanced sideways at Spock. "You come from a wonderfully enlightened people."

"I believe you will find it useful to limit the number of colloquialisms in your speech, Doctor," Spock replied coolly. "Describe your mission, Mr. Sevek," he ordered the cadet.

"Yes, sir," he said with barely noticeable relief at being able to comprehend what was asked. "We were ordered to chart sectors four-seven-one and four-seven-three. At stardate 1205.8 we were attacked by the Orion pirates. The ship was heavily damaged. We lost 79 percent of warp power, and have experienced a number of failures in secondary systems. At the moment, we are endeavoring to repair navigational controls."

"Where's your captain?" McCoy asked impatiently. "Come to think of it, where're all your officers? You kids couldn't have been sent here without any supervising?"

For a moment, the young Vulcan looked unsure, but, upon meeting Spock's unwavering gaze, hastened to answer.

"We were equipped with three senior officers during the mission, sir. They were all killed in the attack, including Captain T'Sher. We have also lost seventeen cadets, sir."

"I'm very sorry to hear that."

"Why are you sorry, sir?"

"Doctor McCoy is expressing his sadness about the unnecessary loss of life, cadet," Spock translated, before McCoy could explode.

"Yes, sir," Sevek sounded extremely unsure.

"Who has assumed command?" Spock asked strictly.

The cadets looked at one another, making McCoy grin wryly.

"They're just kids, Mr. Spock," he said quietly to him. "Vulcan or not, they're just kids."

"I have, sir," Sevek said finally, looking even more reserved. "But as you are the senior officer present, I relinquish it to you."

Spock looked at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes, and McCoy wondered what he was thinking about. He hoped sincerely, Spock didn't plan on reprimanding the kid.

"Cadets," Spock said finally in a tone of voice that made them instantly snap to attention. "As senior officer present, I declare that the ship's mission is as of this moment altered. You are to proceed to planet Callinah in order to obtain medical supplies essential for stopping the epidemic on Calliope. I cannot leave the planet at this time. Therefore, the mission will continue, with Lieutenant Commander Leonard McCoy as your commanding officer."

There was not a moment of hesitation, no glimpse of doubt in their eyes.

"Sir. Yes, sir."

"Your mission is of utmost importance. You will proceed to the Callinah at the top of your engines' abilities. In addition -"

"Now, wait just one damn minute," McCoy interrupted him shocked. "You can't put me in command of this vessel! I'm a doctor, not a starship captain!"

Spock steeled him with a cold glance. "You are a Starfleet officer, and you will do whatever your duty requires of you."

"But this is insane! You can't just -"

"Cadets," Spock cut him off in a sharp voice. "Return to your duty stations, prepare the ship for departure. Dismissed."

They left immediately without a word. Spock turned to the fuming Doctor.

"Spock, you can't possibly be thinking of putting me in command of a starship! They are Vulcan ship – you should commandeer it!"

"They are Starfleet vessel, Doctor, and, in case you have not been paying attention during our conversation with the Chancellor, let me spell it out for you: I cannot leave the planet. You are therefore the senior officer present. It is logical and in accordance with regulations that you should take command."

"Well, let me spell something out for you, Mr. Spock, - you're out of your damn Vulcan mind! I'm a doctor! I have no knowledge of whatever it is you do to fire your phasers and torpedoes, or any battle tactics they teach you, command boys, at the Academy. I simply am not qualified to do this! Put me in command, and everyone on board is doomed!"

"Your assessment skills seem to be improving, Doctor," Spock noted sarcastically. "I am well aware of your limitations."

"Well, then why don't you pick one of them to do it, if you can't leave the damn planet yourself?"

"If they were graduates, Doctor, that might have been an option. But they are first year cadets. They possess certain knowledge of ship's operations and control but they are not trained in command. You, on the other hand, carry the rank of lieutenant commander. It is not possible, even for someone coming from a non-essential area, to obtain this rank without receiving certain training in command disciplines."

"Oh, for crying out loud! Do you believe that listening to a couple of lectures and passing a test would empower me with leadership skills?"

"Not at all, Doctor. I am relying in much greater regard on your years of experience in Starfleet. To use a colloquialism, you are the best man for the job."

"Maybe that's what you think, Spock, but I don't. It's pure insanity, and I won't do it."

There was something in the Vulcan's eyes that made him stop talking. Spock suddenly stepped closer to him, watching him carefully.

"Doctor, as Acting First Officer, I am _ordering_ you to take command over this vessel and proceed with the mission as planned."

"We are not on the _Enterprise_ anymore, Mr. Spock. You can't order me around."

"The ship has not been decommissioned, neither you nor I received orders for transfer. We still belong to the same command structure, even if our ship is not currently here. I am your superior officer and I am giving you a direct order. Are you telling me you are willing to disobey it?"

McCoy took a step back, stunned with the Vulcan's words. He knew he was outmaneuvered. He could not disobey a direct order from a superior officer. It was a court-martial offence, and he wouldn't put it past this unfeeling walking calculator to press charges. For someone with his history of insubordination, it well meant the end of his career. It did not stop him from feeling infuriated though. Glaring at Spock, with barely controlled rage, he said:

"No, Sir."

"It is gratifying to know you _are_ capable of seeing reason," Spock noted. "I shall check the status of the navigational controls' repairs, and then beam down to the planet. Doctor, I can hardly impress upon you how important your mission is."

"Indeed you can't, Mr. Spock," the Doctor's voice was soaking with acid. "Well, let me impress something upon _you_. I will obey your suicidal order, but I want you to realize that you are sending a crippled ship, manned by children, under command of an amateur, through the space heavily guarded by Orion pirates. I wonder how would you estimate our chances of succeeding?"

Spock met his gaze calmly, his expression absolutely serene. The only faltering of his demeanor was a slight glint in his eyes, which, to an uneducated observer, might have seemed as an immeasurable regret of being unable to go on the mission himself.

"It has been my experience, Doctor, that sometimes humans are 'better off' without that particular knowledge. If ever it is the case, it is now."

"Oh, I certainly don't want to know, Spock," McCoy said with a sad smile. "But the truth is – I believe neither do you."


	8. Chapter 8 Being In Charge

**Chapter 8**

**Being in Charge**

"It's no good, Mr. Scott," Reilly shook his head in frustration. "Those ships are everywhere. There's no way to penetrate this net."

"There has to be," Scotty said with conviction he didn't quite feel. "The Captain is somewhere on the other side of it."

"I suppose we could fight our way through," Reilly said thoughtfully. "We're more than a match even for the heaviest of their cruisers."

"Sure," Scott was staring at the viewscreen with exasperation. "And how many _matches_ d'ye think we can take over, lad? There're about thirty ships in the vicinity, who knows, how many more out of our sensor range. I doubt Captain Kirk will be pleased if we blow his ship to pieces."

"Do you think he's still alive, sir?" Ensign Renseb asked with barely controlled anxiety. "With all those Orions that turned up in our rendezvous point?"

Scotty measured him up with a reproachful glance.

"Ye've gotta know James Kirk, lad. Takes more than a handful of bloody pirates to blast him outta the sky. Masterson," he roared into the com. "How's me warp conduit coming up?"

"We'll need an hour to bring it online, Mr. Scott," his deputy answered unabashed.

"Well, I suggest ye hurry up, lass. We might need it any minute now."

"Yes, sir."

"Commander," Liesselle, lieutenant j.g., who was manning the communications station, called to him urgently. "I'm receiving a transmission on one of the Orion channels. I think we've intercepted their fleet address or something."

"On screen."

A tall bold-headed Orion appeared on the main viewscreen.

"_... Benzev and Tulav, you'll cover sectors four-eight-seven to four-nine-zero; Manud and Kespyf, take over all the –nine- zone. No ship must go in or out, is that clear? We've done too much to let anyone interfere now. __Those worlds will be ours." _

"_There's a Federation starship inside the zone, commander. We've damaged it, but it escaped before we destroyed it." _

"_Idiot! We don't need Federation's interest to this sector now. See that this ship never leaves, Meved."_

"_Yes, commander."_

"_We only have to wait about a month, and the Misty Worlds are going to be ours. Secure your zones. And don't fail me." _

The transmission broke, leaving a devastating silence on the Bridge.

"The Misty Worlds," Scotty muttered, sliding heavily into the captain's chair. "The Misty Worlds. Isn't that where Mr. Spock and the Doctor were headed, when we lost contact with them?"

Nobody answered that self-evident question.

"What's that 'Federation starship' they've been talking about?" Reilly asked uncertainly. "They couldn't be talking about our shuttle, could they?"

"Nah, they couldn't have gotten here so quickly all the way from Origas," Scott shook his head. "That means there's someone else in the damn zone who needs help."

"What are we going to do now, Mr. Scott?" Renseb asked anxiously.

"We should probably warn Starfleet Command," Scotty said reasonably.

"With them blocking all communications?" Liesselle asked incredulously. "We'd have to go at least ten light years away to have a fighting chance of successful transmission."

"And that'll put too much distance between us and the Captain," Scotty nodded grimly. "And he might need our help."

He sat quietly for a moment, missing the soothing noises of his Engine Room. He'd never wanted to be the captain, not so soon anyway. All this decision making with no right variants at hand, when there were engines in need of calibrating, was annoying at best. Sighing heavily, he straightened up, looking over the Bridge decisively.

"We'll stay here and we'll search for a way to reach the Captain. Those pirates can't be smarter than us. There must be an opening in their defenses, and I intend to find it."

--

The view of the bridge invoked the allergic reaction in his body. I can't sit in that chair, McCoy thought darkly. What the hell was Spock thinking?

"Captain on the bridge!" a young voice announced, making every head turn in his direction.

"At – at ease," he said hoarsely. Then, turning to the young Vulcan to his left, he added, "Don't ever do that again, son."

The boy – and McCoy couldn't help considering them kids – looked at him with a mildly distinguished frown.

"I was not aware we were related, sir," he said.

"Thank all the deities in the universe, we aren't," McCoy rolled his eyes. "What's our speed, helm?"

"Warp one point thirty three, sir," cadet T'Lenn replied from the helm console.

McCoy sighed. "Can't we do any better?"

She stared at him. "Is this a test, sir?"

"What? No, that's not a test, I'm asking you."

"But logically, sir, if we could have been going any faster, we would have."

"I'm gonna kill you, Spock," McCoy promised darkly under his breath.

"Sir, Commander Spock is not here."

He glared at her calm face in helpless fury. Even the prettiest Vulcan girl in Starfleet was getting onto his nerves.

"Yes, I have noticed that, cadet." He turned to the Science station, manned by Sevek. "Are there any Orion ships nearby?"

"Commander, I will need the specification on the 'nearby' to provide you with an answer."

"Nearby – as in within detectable range."

"We have not detected any Orion ships within detectable range, sir, however, that does not mean that there are none."

"Mr. Sevek, are you doing this on purpose?"

"Sir?"

"Never mind. How long till we reach Callinah?"

"At present speed, given that our last dilithium crystal does not break, if we are not intercepted by the Orions or encounter some unexpected phenomenon -"

"Cadet, wake me up when you're gonna get ready to name a figure."

"But I am ready now, sir. Are you going to fall asleep momentarily? I submit that the bridge is not the correct place for recreation."

"Oh, for heaven's sake..."

"Do you really believe there is a heaven, sir?"

"No, Ms. T'Lenn, but I do believe there's hell. In fact, I'm in one right now. How long, cadet?"

"Ninety six hours, thirty two minutes, sir."

"Wait a minute, why so slow? Even crawling at warp one, we should be there in a day."

"'Crawling,' sir?"

"That's a metaphor, cadet. Don't they teach you any comparative thinking? No, don't bother. Answer the damn question: why are we progressing so slowly?"

"We are implementing the course Commander Spock had plotted for us, sir. He endeavored to calculate the safest route."

"I don't care much for 'the safest route,' Mr. Sevek. Hundreds of people are dying on Calliope every day. Each hour of the delay should be measured in lives lost. Change the course."

"Sir?"

"Sir?"

"Oh, merciful God. Which word in the 'change the course' order you didn't get?"

"Commander, I am obliged to point out that changing the course will put this ship at considerably greater risk of being lost. In that case, the people of Calliope will never get their medicine. It is therefore not logical to –"

Let's see if it works both ways, McCoy mused in the midst of his frustration.

"Are you refusing to obey an order, cadet?" he asked, imitating to a certain degree Spock's tone, when he had addressed that same question to the Doctor.

"Your order is not logical, sir."

"Some discipline," McCoy grunted. "Cadet Sevek, I don't know about Starfleet Academy branch on Vulcan, but on Earth refusing to obey an order of a superior officer if it doesn't meet with one's approval is not an option. And if I told you to jump," McCoy made a meaningful pause, "the only question that might come from you should be 'How high, sir?' – is that clear?"

"Are you ordering me to jump, sir?"

"I'm ordering you to change the damn course."

"How exactly, sir?" T'Lenn beat him to the answer.

"To make it resemble a straight line from here to Callinah as close as possible."

"Yes, sir."

Much better, McCoy thought with grim satisfaction. I won't be creeping up all the way to Callinah to satisfy your guilty conscience, Mr. Spock. Don't even dream of it.

--

"I have discovered the reason for the replicators' malfunction, Ruler," Spock said.

"Really?" Sanar asked grumpily. "Do you mean to tell me that that little device of yours is more capable than all our equipment?" he nodded at Spock's tricorder.

"Sanar, please," Sanaya tried to calm him down. "Let him speak."

"My tricorder indeed is proving more efficient," Spock continued unperturbed. "Because our technology is based on different power source. That is why I have been able to determine that there are five Orion ships in Calliope's upper orbit. They are emanating a dampening field, which encircles the entire planet. This field interferes with your technology to the point of rendering it practically ineffective."

"But if none of our devices will work, people will starve," a councilor said in a mildly frightened voice.

"Have you no food storages?" Spock asked Sanaya.

She shook her head. "Very little. I suppose our technology made us careless. What would you advise, Mr. Spock?"

He glanced at Sanar's strict face, and bowed off. "It is not my place to advise this Council."

"But we are asking for your advice, Commander," Sanaya said. She stood up, making several steps down to face Spock. "We are not prepared to deal with a crisis like this. You have proved to us that we are of a kind. Please, Mr. Spock. My people are dying. If you can think of anything to help..."

Before Spock could say anything, Sanar came over to his sister's side.

"I apologize for my tone," he said. "But you have to understand, we have never been put on the verge of extinction before."

"What shall we do?" she asked softly.

"Start preserving energy," Spock replied at once. It was clear that he had a plan at the ready. "Turn off the illumination on the buildings, stop using rechargeable clothing."

"But how will we see each other in the fog?" Sanar asked, bemused.

"You can use sound instead of visual signals. Have your people wear bells or something ringing at all times. Stretch ropes between the buildings to facilitate movement."

"Done," Sanar said grimly. "What next?"

"The energy should be converted to the replicators, and they should produce as many food supplies as possible, until the power runs out," Spock continued. "This ought to be simple and highly energetic food, preferably concentrates, it will help us to last longer. The people must be made aware that their activities should be as limited as possible. In the meantime, I shall endeavor to find the way to fight the effects of the dampening field."

"Do you think you can do it?" Sanar asked dubiously.

"I do not know. But we shall inevitably find out."

And Calliope sank into darkness. Days went by in a quiet subdued fashion as people were struggling to assimilate the new way of life without sliding to the bottomless well of despair.

Every official on Calliope was busy organizing food distribution and dealing with upcoming demands, but none was as occupied as the Chancellor, who did not let go of her responsibility for the entire planet.

Spock was still living in the hospital, where he had equipped McCoy's former office with every bit of still working technology he was able to gather and worked practically around the clock on the means of escape the deadly influence of the Orion dampening field. He had also spent numerous hours with the Chancellor, trying to assist her in the complicated task of fighting the enemy that like the mythical hydra grew a couple of new heads instead of a single defeated one.

"We have so many orphans now, Mr. Spock," she complained in a tired voice, as they were sitting on the steps of the hospital, watching the last strays of sun dissipating in the rising fog. "Prixia attacks everyone, but for some reason grownups die more quickly. I'm running out of hands to look after the children."

Spock thought of Learie with an uncommon twinge of sadness. The girl had passed away that afternoon.

"How is your work coming?" Sanaya asked after a pause.

"I am close to a partial solution," he said. "There might be a way to create an underground shelter, which could be shielded from the dampening field. I need to run more tests."

"But this is very promising," she turned to him excitedly.

"Do not become overly optimistic," he warned her hastily. "Even if I do discover the materials, which would work effectively as shields, the energy consumption required to make such a shelter running would be almost equal to its producing capabilities. One low energy replicator would probably be the only additional unit it would be capable of supporting."

"But this is still some hope, Spock. Don't be a killjoy. Goodness knows, I need some good news to hold on to."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, as the slides of fog started to cover the valley in front of them.

"You have a remarkable philosophy," Spock noted quietly. "I have never known of a people who faced an existential crisis with such stoicism and calmness."

She smiled faintly. "From what you told me about your homeworld, our people are very much alike, Spock. Much more, in fact, than Vulcans and humans."

He shook his head softly. "Much as it is agreeable to hear you hold my people to such great esteem, I must differ with you. Your people had been devoted to this admirable way of life since the beginning of your civilization. Vulcan past, on the other hand, was full of uncontrollable passions and drives, which would terrify any human with their vehemence."

"But you have cast them out?" she asked curiously.

"Not at all," he objected somberly. "We merely learned to master them. To keep them under very tight control of logic at all times."

She looked at him fixedly, her head falling slightly backwards, as if she wanted to create some distance in order to observe him in full.

"Can nothing falter that tight control of yours?" her tone was somehow lower, indicating surreptitiously that while they were speaking in general terms, the question carried a definite personal layer.

Spock held her gaze for several unusually long seconds. She blushed, but didn't look away.

"I am not the right Vulcan to be asked that question," he admitted in a deep rich voice that made her tremble with unidentifiable anticipation. "My control is being put at test every moment of every day. I endeavor to maintain it, but sometimes the task seems too difficult."

"When you encounter great suffering, for instance?"

"Or great beauty."

She lowered her eyes finally, unable to withstand the intensity of his gaze.

"We have a long day ahead of us," she said a little awkwardly, coming on her feet and using his shoulder for leverage. "Good night, Mr. Spock."

"Good night, Chancellor."

--

"We have an Orion on our tail," Sulu said tensely.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive identification, sir. But at least it's not a heavy cruiser. Looks more like a scout ship."

"Well, we're not exactly on board the _Enterprise_ ourselves," Kirk muttered frowning. "Is it within firing range?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why the hell doesn't it fire? Lieutenant," he glanced at Uhura. "Hail them–"

"Captain, wait!" Sulu exclaimed excitedly. "I don't believe he sees us, sir! Our shields must be still hiding us from direct view. He's following another ship!"

"What other ship?" Kirk asked sharply.

"Confirmed," Quaint reported, hovering over her partially repaired sensors. "There's another ship dead ahead, sir. It's a starship!"

"The _Enterprise_?" Uhura asked hopefully.

"Negative. But it's definitely a starship, and it's – I think it's in trouble, sir."

"Let's all have a look," Kirk ordered briskly. "On screen. Can you magnify that, Mr. Sulu?"

"Aye, sir."

"That's the _Intrepid_," Kirk said in amazement, recognizing the vessel at once. "What's it doing here?"

"The _Intrepid_?" Sulu repeated perplexed. "That's a Vulcan ship, isn't it?"

"It is," Quaint confirmed, "but I don't think it matters now. I'm reading massive fluctuations in the warp drive."

"And judging by the way it moves, they either have navigational control lost, or a blind pilot," Sulu added.

"The Orion is firing, Captain," Quaint warned. "Direct hit! Their shields are failing. They will not withstand another blast."

"We still have phasers, don't we?" Kirk asked, his eyes glued to the screen. "Prepare to fire on my -" he stopped short. "What the devil is she doing?"

The _Intrepid_ had suddenly ceased moving, coming to a full stop. The Orion ship, that on the contrary was gaining momentum, was headed directly at it, evidently unable to change the course in time. Just as the two vessels were about to collide, the Intrepid lurched forward, as if something had been holding it back for a long time, making the Orion scout whirl around in a desperate attempt to get out of the way. For a split second, it looked like it had succeeded, but the impression only lasted a few moments, until the starship jumped back with equal speed as it just did forward, sticking the Orion on its aft nacelle like a canapé. For a mesmerizing moment, two ships were bind together, but as a wave of bright sparkles ran over the pirate, the Intrepid lurched forward again in a mighty and uncontrollable convulsion of a mad horse, freeing itself in the exact instant that the Orion exploded.

The _Enterprise_ crew was staring at the screen transfixed, jaws fallen and eyes wide, unable to believe that it all had just happened for real.

"I believe I will apply to the Vulcan branch of Starfleet Academy," Sulu murmured, swallowing hard. "I have never seen such battle tactics in my life."

"Neither have I," Kirk admitted incredulously. "I think I want to meet their captain in person. Uhura, hail them."

"Captain," she said after a while, frowning. "I'm getting a text message only. They say their transmitter is down. Starfleet codes and passwords confirmed."

"Well then," Kirk was still looking at the screen, recovering from his shock. "Do they mind if we come aboard for a while?"

"No, they –" she paused, deciphering the message, "they _insist_ we do, sir. Especially, if we have _adults_ aboard," She stared at him in helpless confusion. "There's nothing more, Captain. Just the permission to dock."

"Mr. Sulu," Kirk nodded warily.

"I can't do it, Captain," the helmsman exclaimed irritably. "They keep jumping back and forth, and I can't predict what they'll do next."

"Lieutenant, transmit a message," Kirk ordered impatiently. "_Stand still_!"

"Brace yourselves!" Sulu yelled, just before a powerful blow hit them.

"What happened?" Kirk demanded, sitting up on the floor and massaging his aching elbow.

"I believe we've rammed their hangar doors," Sulu reported. He was the only person who managed to remain on his seat. "The forcefield is in place. We can come out."

"Is everyone all right?" the Captain asked, glancing around. "Yeoman?"

Rand was nursing her wrist, wincing in pain.

"It's nothing, sir," she said in a high unnatural voice.

"Hold it," Chapel ordered, coming over and bending down to take a look. "It's broken," she sighed. "And we don't have a bone regenerator here."

"I don't intend to stay here anyway," Kirk promised, standing up and helping Uhura to her feet, while Quaint and Chapel supported Rand. "Let's go find this maniac."

It turned out, however, that the collision jammed the door mechanism, and it took the Captain and Sulu about five minutes to open them. Just as they stepped one by one onto the deck, the inner doors slid open, and 'the maniac' walked in hastily, accompanied by a couple of very young looking Vulcans.

"Bones!" Kirk stared at him in pure astonishment. Feeling, he was unable to contain the emotions overwhelming him, he laughed incredulously and shook his head in amused admiration. "I should have known."

"Jim!" the Doctor gaped at him in even greater amazement, taking in his friend's rather peculiar appearance. Then, his gaze drifted towards four extremely familiar, but very unusually dressed women. His eyes twinkled with sly humor. "Do I want to know what you have been doing in that shuttle?"

"It's a long story, Bones," Kirk grinned, clasping his hand and clapping him on the shoulder hard. "It's good to see you. How could you possibly end up here? And where's Spock?"

"It's a long story, too," McCoy grunted. "Nurse Chapel, I must say you look really astounding. What do we have here?"

"A broken wrist," Chapel replied coolly.

"Ah. That's one kind of trouble that we're still able to deal with. Come with me, Yeoman."

Meanwhile, Kirk was watching the Vulcans curiously.

"Bones, don't tell me it's time for their annual cadet cruise. I bet you've made some instructor."

The Doctor rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation.

"Trust me, Jim. You can't come close to imagining."


	9. Chapter 9 So Close, So Distant

**Chapter 9**

**So ****Close, So Distant**

That was the longest night Montgomery Scott could remember, including the one after graduation, when he woke up in an almost the same condition as the proverbial Scotsman from an old song. This, however, was different. This night started approximately when their desperate flight from Kroulen had occurred in pursuit of the four kidnapped crewmen, and there seemed to be no end in sight. On the contrary, it was getting darker and darker by the day. There had been no news from the Captain, Uhura or Mr. Spock, and no way could they find to get through the ring of blockade.

Scotty discovered he couldn't sleep. Alone in his quarters, he was spending night after night gazing at the bottle of scotch Kirk had given him for his birthday almost four months ago. In a way, the amber liquid reminded him of the Captain by mere power of subconscious association. It was gold and pure in all the right proportions to distract one's attention long enough in order to make them fail to notice that objects appeared slightly altered coming through that seemingly transparent looking glass.

That was Jim Kirk as well, seemingly easy to grasp, yet keeping his distance with a shiny smile, making people feel privileged just to be in his presence. He dominated whatever room he was currently in, regardless of any disguise he might be wearing. He was born a leader, inducing people with irresistible urge to follow him to whatever crazy adventure he had in mind.

Then, there was Spock, Scotty thought. He had been serving with the Vulcan for many years, and still couldn't say he knew him. He doubted anyone could, though he, too, along with many sharp eyes on board, had noticed the signs of a tentative rapport beginning to form between the Science Officer and the Captain. At any rate, Spock's presence, though always rendering any gathering a certain hint of unease, was, at the same time, strangely comforting and reassuring. While he was around, there was always certainty to hear the voice of reason regardless of the circumstances.

As his thoughts drifted towards Uhura, Scotty sighed gravely. He tried not to dwell on what might be happening to her and the others in the Orions' hands, because every time the thought occurred he showed an unfortunate tendency to smash something. He remembered that Lieutenant Quaint was a close friend of Engineer Mathewson, his own deputy, and clenched his fists in helpless frustration, thinking of Mandy's grim face and snappish one-syllable answers to whatever question was posed to her these days.

The crew was devastated and exhausted; he didn't need a doctor to see that. During the daytime, he tried to talk to as many people as his duties permitted him to, showing support and reassurance, but he was running out of consoling words to tell them. He desperately needed some reassurance himself, realizing for the first time exactly what it meant to be a captain.

"Mr. Scott to the Bridge, please," the intercom came to life suddenly. "Mr. Scott to the Bridge."

Not expecting any good news, Scotty pressed the button.

"Scott here. Report."

"Sir, we are detecting an object, coming from the blockaded zone," Reilly reported. "Looks like a Federation shuttle."

The Engineer sat up straighter at once. "One of ours?"

"No, sir," Lieutenant DeSalle sounded mildly surprised. "It's a long range shuttle, we've never carried those."

"And it's coming from the Orion side?" Scotty frowned. "That's odd."

"Sir, its course is completely erratic. I think it's in some kind of trouble."

"Engage tractor beam, Mr. DeSalle," Scotty ordered. "Pull it into the shuttle bay, I'm coming to take a look. Call Mandy in there and also one of those blasted doctors."

"Aye, sir. Bridge out."

"Damn," Scotty muttered, getting up on his feet with some newly discovered energy. "Ain't all the crackpots coming from Orion tonight?"

When he entered the shuttle bay, everyone he ordered to be there were present, including _both_ doctors; the maintenance crew was already working on opening the shuttle doors.

"What's happened to that thing?" Scotty demanded in surprise, addressing no one in particular. The shuttle looked like it'd been used as a toy for some evil baby-giant.

Mathewson came to his side. "Looks like it's coming straight down from hell, Mr. Scott," she said. "Not a piece of the hull intact."

With a dreadful rattling sound, the shuttle doors swung open, making one of the techs lose his balance. Everyone stared at the hatchway, as a long broad figure appeared in it, swaying slightly and wincing at the bright lights.

"What ship is that?" the man asked hoarsely, looking around wildly.

"The _Enterprise_," Scott answered, watching him curiously.

"The _Enterprise_?!" the stranger's eyes snapped wide open, as he whirled his head around, trying to discover some evidence of the opposite. "Of all the possible darned Starfleet tin cans, I had to end up on the _Enterprise_!"

Reilly threw a wary glance at Scott, whose face darkened instantly, as if a storm cloud had nestled upon his head.

"Listen, Mister –"

"And where's you blasted captain? I demand to speak to him at once!"

"Who the hell are ye to demand anything on my ship?" Scotty exploded, supported by general murmur of the crew, angry with the way the Captain was referred to.

"I'm Federal Commissioner Batim," he introduced himself pompously. "Who are you?"

"Chief Engineer Scott, currently in command."

"Ha! Tell me, Mr. Scott, does this pesky vessel even have a captain? Or are you simply in league with that goddamned Vulcan in hiding him from any piece of actual job so that he won't get his hands dirty?"

"Mandy!" Reilly shouted, as Scotty's deputy stepped forward menacingly.

"Don't you dare insult Mr. Spock or the Captain, you, nasty little excuse for a man," she spat furiously, advancing on him.

"I don't think the Commissioner wanted to insult anyone," Doctor Reese said suddenly. "Looks to me like he's being delusional. Wouldn't you agree?" He turned to his colleague.

"Oh, absolutely," Doctor Stein nodded readily. "He's most definitely delirious. I believe some tranquilizer is in order."

"My thoughts exactly."

"First time for anything," Reilly commented, still keeping a close eye on Mathewson.

"Watch your tongue, you're addressing a Federal Commissioner," Batim scolded them, red faced with indignation. "Now, Mr. Scott, if you're in command, I order you to take me to the nearest starbase at once. I have an urgent report to deliver."

"No way," Scotty shook his head, no less infuriated than his people and only keeping in check remembering his status. "I have eight crewmembers behind the Orion blockade, and I ain't going anywhere until they're all home."

"I don't give a damn for your crewmembers, I have the supreme authority aboard any Starfleet vessel, as you very well know!"

"And I don't give a damn about yer authority! Aboard a starship, there's no greater authority than that of her captain!"

"Are you disobeying my orders, Mr. Scott?" Batim hissed in his face. "You're gonna get busted out of your precious Starfleet faster than you can say 'warp drive.'"

"Aye, but it'll be for a reason," he looked over at security guards. "Take him to the brig."

"Yessir!" they snapped to attention happily.

"What?! You dare not arrest me!"

"I'm not arresting ye," Scott informed him gravely. "I'm holding ye in contempt for being disrespectful of Starfleet. Get him outta here."

The indignant shouts and threats echoed loudly in the corridors, as the guards steered the unwilling passenger away.

"You do realize, he's gonna complain, don't you?" Mathewson asked Scott quietly. "They might listen to him."

Scotty, however, was staring at the crippled shuttle thoughtfully.

"I realize," he toned pensively, "Yes, I realize something. If that idiot had been able to come outta there, we can get in the same way. Lieutenant, check his logs and navigational records. I wanna know exactly how he managed to get through this blasted circle."

"Aye, sir," she nodded. "Mr. Reilly."

Together, they climbed into the shuttle. Scotty waited, pondering his actions from just a few moments ago. He wasn't sorry one beat about the way he treated the Commissioner, but he couldn't be happy about the inevitable consequences. Now, however, was not the time to think about it yet.

"Mr. Scott," Mathewson emerged from the distorted craft. "You're not gonna like it, sir."

"What?"

"That idiot," she almost spat the word. "According to the logs, he took the shuttle through the asteroid field in sector four-seven-four."

"That field is too dense to allow even a shuttle to pass through it," Scotty said frowning. "How–"

"He literary blasted his way through it," Mathewson said in disgust. "Transferred all power to phasers and... No wonder his shuttle is in that condition. It's a miracle he's made it even that far."

"Good gracious," Scotty sighed aghast. "He is mad, that one. A shuttle can't withstand..." he fell silent abruptly. "Aye, a shuttle can't, but _we_ can. He's cleared just enough space for us to get through, with a wee bit of help from our own phaser banks."

Mathewson looked dubious. "But what of the Orions?"

"They don't expect anyone coming from there, do they?" the Engineer mused. "Could be our only chance."

"Aye, sir," she sighed. "I'll see to it you have everything we got."

--

"So basically, after I made them alter course, it's been one disaster after another. We've made it to Callinah, though for the life of me, I still don't know how, and gathered the damned plants. But after that ..."

"I made Quaint and Sulu check all systems," Kirk told him reassuringly, as they walked into a dimly lit observation deck. "Don't worry, Bones, we'll make it."

"You can't know how glad I am to see you, Jim," McCoy shook his head in tired admiration. "One more day like that, and those damn cadets would have cost me my sanity."

"Well, one more day looking like an Orion would have probably killed me, too. Thanks, Bones," Kirk ran his fingers through his hair with obvious pleasure at the familiarity of the sensation. "You still haven't told me how you'd made the Calliopeans to accept your help," Kirk reminded him patiently. "You were talking about some test."

"Pure madness," McCoy frowned at the reminder. "Batim might have been an arrogant son of bitch, but this time he was right, a barbaric ritual. Imagine a maze, full of that blasted fog of theirs where you can't see a thing. You have to find your way through it. Inside, there's a wild beast that, unlike you, can see perfectly well, and the only thing it wants to see is your throat."

"Not a very endearing prospect," Kirk shuddered.

"It's not the end of it. The maze's full of weapons, but you can't defend yourself. Even if the blasted thing is killing you, you can't even push it away."

"Wonderful," the Captain winced, picturing the scene. "I believe I'd look for an alternate solution."

"Well, that's probably what you might have done, though knowing you, I doubt it," McCoy shrugged in exasperation, "but that green-blooded demon of yours found nothing better, than allowing himself to be locked up with that Calliopean impersonation of a wild boar; and, when we opened that door," he sighed heavily, "there was hardly any blood in him left."

Never, in all his years of practicing medicine, had McCoy seen anyone go so shockingly pale so quickly, as if all the blood was sucked out by some mother of vampires in one mighty gulp. Like an attacking cobra, Kirk's hand shot forward, as if it lived its own life, and gripped the Doctor's arm painfully.

"He's fine, Jim," McCoy hastened to say, startled by his reaction. "Or at least, he was fine when I left him. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -"

Kirk shook his head, letting go of McCoy and making several steps around the room, calming his breath. Watching him, McCoy couldn't help but curse himself mutely. Where had he been looking? It was all in front of his eyes, in plain view.

"Anyway," he cleared his throat. "Just as we discovered the means to make the vaccine work, we learned about the blockade. Then the _Intrepid_ fell down on our heads with those blasted Vulcan kiddies on board, and Spock, no doubt in some exercise of twisted Vulcan humor, made me take command. You know the rest."

Kirk nodded, still silently, pacing slowly across the room. Finally, he came to a stop in front of McCoy and looked at him tentatively.

"Bones," he said hesitantly, as if feeling his way. "How was Spock doing – other than physically?"

McCoy sighed heavily. Where had he been looking, indeed?

"Jim, why didn't you tell me you and he were so close?"

That gave Kirk a start; his head snapped backwards, and he instinctively took a step away.

"What do you mean? I'm only asking -"

"I know what you're asking. What I mean is, you nearly fainted just then, when I told you he was injured, and he mutters your name in his sleep, your _first_ name, mind you, when apparently he tries to apologize to you for something he considers to be an unforgivable transgression."

For a moment, Kirk stared at him, clearly trying to decide whether he was in a position to deny anything. Then, he sighed too.

"He has nothing to apologize to me for," he said.

McCoy nodded curtly, without leaving him out of his appraising gaze for a second.

"That's what I'm starting to think, too. In fact, I'm starting to think that whenever this is over, I should lock you two up in a room and not let you out until you have talked about everything that's bothering you like grownups do."

Kirk smiled wryly. "Maybe it's not such a bad idea. Let's hope that whenever this is over, we'll still have some room to be locked up in."

He turned to go, but McCoy called after him.

"Jim." Kirk turned to face him. "Don't ever lie to me again about something as important. I'm a doctor. I can't help you if I don't know the truth."

Slowly, Kirk nodded his assent.

"You got it, Bones. But I wasn't silent on purpose," he shrugged, with a thoughtful expression on his face. "I guess I didn't tell you, because I didn't know."

Long after he was gone, McCoy stared after him, pondering the implications of everything he had just witnessed. He realized what it had cost Jim to make this sort of admission, and he knew, his friend would be extremely edgy about the topic again. That was the price of sincerity, which he never would have got had they been aboard the _Enterprise_, where Jim would have been in his all-captain mode. McCoy could only hope that this new realization would last long enough to make the right impact on Jim, who so obviously needed to re-discover himself, now more than ever.

--

Darkness, which she got used to so much to consider an ally, surrendered some of her intensity to the glimmering light of stars.

"Spock?" Sanaya called out uncertainly. "Are you there?"

But it became clear in a moment that he wasn't in his improvised lab. She stepped through the inner doors into an early night outside, and spotted a lean figure immediately, sitting on a cliff, gazing into the starry sky.

"Spock, what are you doing here?" she asked with a kind smile, coming over to him. "Everybody's looking for you. Sanar is ordering to organize other shelters, since this one has worked so well. People want to thank you."

"They have nothing to thank me for," he said in a low even voice, without looking back.

"Of course, they do," Sanaya told him. "I realize it's not enough to save everyone, but at least we can take care of the children now. You've freed us of a great burden, Spock. We are grateful."

His shoulder moved, as if in an imitation of a shrug.

"You are welcome."

She came to his side, watching him with growing concern.

"Spock, are you all right? When was the last time _you've_ had any food?"

"I am not hungry," he shook his head softly.

"No, you never are, are you? Spock, you have to take care of yourself. We can't afford to lose you right now."

"You are in no danger of this happening," he assured her. "But, since we are on the subject, when was the last time you -"

"Oh, I'm fine," she waved his question off dismissively. "I've spent the afternoon with the children; we've had lunch. Spock, please," she said pleadingly after a pause. "What's wrong?"

"I assure you, Chancellor, all is well. It is a starry night tonight. I was in need of some air."

She took the last step toward him, concentrating in a desperate attempt to see his face in the darkness. Suddenly, she noted his depressed, all too quiet posture, as if he was looking inward, his lowered shoulders and bowed head. In a breathtaking strike of insight, she guessed:

"You're lonely, aren't you?"

He winced as if in sudden pain.

"Vulcans cannot feel lonely," he said slowly, in an almost uncertain voice.

"Maybe they can't," Sanaya agreed softly. "But you do. Of course, you do. How can you not? You've been under such a strain lately. You are marooned here, on this dark, dying planet, separated from everything... from everyone who's dear to you. Who is it that you're thinking of, Spock, sitting here and wondering if you're both seeing the same star?"

Spock was silent for a long while, and then, suddenly, surprising himself no less than her, he spoke, answering not this, but another question, asked in another voice at another time.

"A friend is someone you are willing to trust not only with your life, but with everything that you are, because you know he would rather die than betray you. A friend is someone, whose opinion of you is far more valuable, than that of your own farther. A friend is someone, whose happiness means more to you – however illogically – than the wellbeing of other people. That is why," he said with unspeakable bitterness, "Vulcans do not have friends. That is too illogical. Too dangerous. Vulcans do not have friends."

"Vulcans don't," she reiterated, with tears of sympathy in her voice. "But you do. Why eating yourself up because of this? If that is what you think of friendship, isn't it good that you have a friend?"

"I do not," he shook his head sadly. "I used to. But I did not know it at the time. I was too preoccupied, trying to convince myself I did not feel friendship because I was ashamed of it. But shame, too, is an emotion. Thus, I failed everyone: my own people; my friend."

"Spock..."

His head snapped toward her, as his hand caught her wrist, squeezing it hard.

"I wronged him, Sanaya. The only thing he had ever asked of me was not to change who I am, or to act like the rest of them. The only thing he had ever asked of me was to stand by his side. And I refused."

"Why?" tears were streaming down her cheeks now, as she looked into his eyes, feeling his pain.

"After what I had done, I did not believe myself worthy."

"You? Unworthy? Oh, Spock..." she looked away for a moment, then turned back, slightly calmer. "There's one thing you forgot to say about friendship, Spock. A friend is someone who forgives you, whatever you have done."

"But I –"

"_Whatever_ you have done. If he is your friend."

And then, seeing his continuing torment, she did what women had been doing in situations like that since the dawn of days. She put her arms around his shoulders, pulling him gently towards her, whispering meaningless words of comfort to his ear. Her lips found his in a soft, tender touch, telling him soundlessly that he was worthy a thousand of stars, the whole galaxy in her opinion.

Spock's hesitation was no longer than a heartbeat. In one powerful, desperate effort of his soul, he forbade himself to think any further, letting his hands slide around her waist, and there was nothing shy or uncertain about his touch, precise, and confident, and full of passion.

"No," Sanar whispered, catching Nort by the arm. "Let them be."

They went in search of both Spock and Sanaya, and were now standing at the doors of the lab, watching two merged silhouettes at the distance.

"But he's a stranger!" Nort whispered back anxiously. "Your sister, Ruler-"

"My sister loves him," Sanar said calmly. "I have known it for quite some time. And he is going to die with us, Nort. Let them have what short time we all have. Let's go."

Reluctantly, the older man nodded, and they stepped inside quietly, letting two hearts beat rapidly in a desperate race under the watchful stars.


	10. Chapter 10 Breaking Through

**A/N:** Hey, sorry, everyone, it's been an unexpectedly busy week. Here is the rest of it. Hope you'll enjoy.

**Chapter 10**

**Breaking Through**

McCoy watched as Kirk paced across the Bridge in agitation. He knew perfectly well, for he'd been watching that very same routine for the last two weeks, that it would be no use of trying to reason with Kirk, but the doctor in him didn't want to let go that easily.

"Jim, why don't you step down? You'll weary yourself out like this. If anything happens, we'll tell you."

Kirk stopped and threw him a look of exasperated amusement.

"Like the last time?"

McCoy blushed, remembering his not exactly successful attempt to prevent two Orion light cruisers from detecting the _Intrepid_, resulting in a short but fierce battle, which the Captain was lucky enough to win.

"No, not like the last time. Mr. Sulu will inform you the minute anything changes, won't you, Mr. Sulu?"

"Yes, sir."

"Please, Captain," McCoy insisted. "At least six hours –"

"Four hours."

"Five."

"Deal. You have the Bridge, Mr. Sulu."

"That turned out a bit too easy, don't you think?" McCoy asked Sulu, mildly nervous, as soon as the turbolift doors closed behind Jim.

The helmsman shrugged. "The Captain _is_ tired, Doctor."

"That never was a factor with him before."

There was a distinctive impatient snort heard in the following silence, and both humans turned to look at Cadet T'Lenn.

"Do you have something to say on the subject, Cadet?" McCoy asked irritably.

"To which subject do you refer in particular, sir?" she asked calmly. "The Captain's irrational belief that his presence on the Bridge will somehow bring us to Calliope faster or help evade other Orion ships? Or your illogical dissatisfaction with his compliance to act in accordance with your own request?"

"There was nothing illogical in my dissatisfaction," McCoy retorted. "I know the Captain's behavioral pattern very well, and this doesn't quite fall into it."

She stood up, facing him, her shiny black hair streaming down in a vigorous and not quite meeting the regulations manner.

"If your being my commanding officer had taught me something, sir, it's that humans rarely follow anything remotely close to a pattern in their behavior. As a physician, you should have noticed that earlier. Now, if I may be excused, Mr. Sulu, I am needed in Engineering."

The helmsman nodded to her, while McCoy simply stared after her in speechless fury. Uhura chuckled softly.

"Don't take it to heart, Doctor," she said. "I think she likes you."

"She really does," Sulu nodded with a grin. "She hasn't said as much to any of us put together for the whole time we've been here."

"That's – just – outrageous," McCoy stated. "You'd think she was some senior admiral."

"She's just a girl in love," Uhura said. "Or, in her case, a Vulcan in love."

"A Vulcan in love," Sulu repeated wistfully. "Now, that's a concept."

"That is a concept you wouldn't want to explore, sir," Sevek ventured grimly, making everyone look at him.

"Why?" Uhura asked instantly. "Aren't you capable of falling in love?"

His cheeks turned a slightly greenish shade, as he looked away. "We are capable," he admitted gravely. "But there are very few species, who can survive being the object of this... function."

Uhura's jaw dropped, both Sulu and McCoy were staring at the Vulcan in equal amazement. Finally, the Doctor cleared his throat.

"I don't suppose you'd want to enlighten us further on this, uh, function, Mr. Sevek?"

The young Vulcan shook his head. "It is a forbidden subject with outworlders. I only deemed it necessary to warn you, since your colleagues' observations regarding T'Lenn are correct. It would be wise of you, sir, not to encourage her with the signs of sympathy you had shown her before."

Sulu and Uhura looked at the Doctor sharply, as McCoy blushed, feeling extremely embarrassed.

"I have no problem with that," he said firmly, adding silently to himself, 'Though she's damn pretty.'

--

"I was told you were looking for me."

Sanaya looked up at him, wishing she could smile at the sight.

"The better half of the day," she admitted tiredly, pushing her hair out of her face. "Where have you been?"

Taking the liberty of their being alone, Spock collected the soft silky locks gently in his hand and moved them back, with tenderness that made her shiver.

"I was exploring a certain possibility," he explained quietly. "I needed information."

She did smile at that, though a sadder smile her face had probably never known.

"That's what I like so much about you, Spock. You don't ever give up."

His eyebrow crawled up slightly, as he studied her weary face.

"In life, there are always possibilities," he said.

"I wish you were right. Nort was just here. He suggested we fill every building with explosives and detonate them as soon as the first Orion sets foot on our land."

Spock frowned. "He approached me with the same idea."

"I mean, how can he turn against everything our civilization stands for?" she asked in devastating amazement. "Just because we're about to die, doesn't mean we must denounce the way we lived."

"That would be most illogical – and unfortunate."

"I've inspected four shelters today," she wasn't really listening to him, for too much was obviously on her mind. "I'm concerned about the kids, Spock. We can feed them, for a while, at least, but they need so much more. It's so strange watching them, you know. They are so little, yet they act like adults. It's frightening how quickly they understand the graveness of what is happening. It's uncanny."

"I was thinking about them, too," Spock said softly. "Perhaps, you would like to organize some sort of activity to give them a distraction."

"An activity?" Her eyebrows went up. "What kind?"

Spock folded his arms across his chest. "What do you think of reopening schools?"

"Schools?" she repeated disbelievingly. "That's really not the time for studying."

"There is always time for studying," Spock objected calmly. "Concentrating on new knowledge would help them deal with the changes in their everyday experience. It will provide them with something totally different to think about. It will also help keep their minds sharp, for we have no idea how long this crisis is going to take."

"What if it never ends, Spock? What if it only ends with every one of us dying from either the disease or starvation?"

"If this unfortunate eventuality does take place, it is better to facilitate the acceptance of our fate. Panic is born by the lack of knowledge and logic. We can help the children understand the complexity of the universe. Help them see that nothing vanishes into nothingness completely."

She knew he was saying it as much for her as for the children. A warm wave washed over her as she heard the words 'our fate.' Whatever happens, he's with them till the end. Whatever that might be.

"Maybe you're right," she nodded thoughtfully, fighting the urge to kiss him. "I'll see if I can round up any teachers. I'm afraid we don't have a lot of them left."

"You and I can work as substitute teachers," he stated smoothly. "I am sure so can some other members of the Misty Council."

She looked at him in surprise then frowned.

"I appreciate the thought, Commander, but I'm afraid some of my colleagues will not be so receptive to the idea of a Federation officer teaching their kids."

"Undoubtedly," Spock agreed. "And it will give them something to worry about besides destroying one of the galaxy's most beautiful worlds to pieces."

She stared at him incredulously, then laughed.

"I have never met anyone quite like you, Spock," she confessed, shaking her head and smiling. "Perhaps, we should reconsider our communications policy regarding the Federation."

"That would be a wise decision indeed."

"Well, let's hope we'll get that chance," she laid her hands on his shoulders and put a feathery kiss on his lips. "I still have to give Sanar my report. See you tomorrow."

He bowed at her silently, as she disappeared into the night.

--

After almost abandoning all hope, they had reached Calliope at last, but the sight proved to bring another discouraging notion.

"The planet is completely surrounded, Captain," Sulu reported. "We can't come any closer."

"Status?"

"I can't get a clear reading, sir," Quaint shook her head, frowning in concentration. "They're using some kind of dampening field, I think. It's directed towards the planet, but it's pretty much blocking our sensors, too. I can't even say whether there's anyone alive down there, much less what kind of life forms. The only good news is – they have no resources to make a normally thorough scan of space, that's why they haven't detected us."

"What are they using the dampening field for?" McCoy asked, perplexed. "Communications jam?"

"No," Quaint said, studying the readings on her monitor. "It seems to be creating a disturbance in the GW- and TY-waves distribution."

They all stared blankly at her, but she was too engaged in analysis to notice. Suddenly, Sevek spoke, answering the evident question.

"The waves of this type are used as carriers in certain gadgets in certain cultures. For instance, transporters, or replicators."

"Replicators?" Uhura repeated in alarm. "But if the replicators down there aren't working..."

Kirk glanced at McCoy darkly.

"Great," the Doctor said gravely. "So, in addition to that damn epidemic, they now have to fight hunger. Those Orions don't miss a thing, do they?"

"What are we going to do, Captain?" Rand asked, staring at the screen.

Kirk frowned. "I want some options, people. No idea is too stupid to say."

They all looked at one another.

"We have one ship," Quaint stated. "One crippled ship, against five heavily armed Orion vessels. If we do manage to defeat those, there're like fifty more deployed throughout the zone. Against those odds, I'd say all our options must not include an armed conflict. What we need is a way to make them lift their blockade all together, and leave."

"Ingenious," McCoy noted sarcastically. "We simply go over to them and say, 'Knock, knock, can we possibly interest you in leaving this planet alone? There are plenty more, that we're don't care about at the moment, why don't you go bother them?'"

"More or less what I had in mind," Kirk nodded seriously.

"Jim, I'm starting to feel worried about your mental health. Do you honestly believe diplomacy will work with those blasted Orions?"

"Not diplomacy," the Captain shook his head thoughtfully. "They are pirates, aren't they? What we need, is guile."

"What do you suggest?" Sulu asked curiously.

A truly impish grin started to emerge upon the Captain's lips, leaving them all with a heart warming sensation that life is about to get a whole lot more exciting.

"We'll blockade the blockade."

"What?" from McCoy, Chapel and Rand. The Vulcans merely stared at him.

"Mr. Sevek," Kirk looked absolutely serene. "How many photon torpedoes do we have?"

"Full upload, sir," the Vulcan answered at once.

"And how are you on photon mechanics?"

"Basic first grade Starfleet course, sir."

Kirk turned to look at Quaint.

"How's your knowledge of it, Lieutenant?"

"Considerably larger, Captain. What do you have in mind?"

He sighed, as if frustrated that she couldn't guess.

"I will need you two to insert a timer and a remote control trigger into each torpedo, then, put them in sets of five."

"I read you," Quaint nodded, her eyes glinting with anticipation. "But the depletion must be extra precise – and discreet."

"I have just the man for the job," Kirk said, glancing sideways at Sulu.

"Sir, I believe, the shuttles should be freed of anything else in order to contain our cargo," Sulu said. "I'll see to it."

"Good thinking," Kirk nodded. "Rand, go with him."

"Aye, sir," the four of them left.

"Jim," McCoy said in exasperation. "I realize that I'm a poor starship captain, but might you be so kind to explain – what the hell's going on?"

Kirk laughed. "Don't worry, Bones, you're far better captain, than I'm a doctor. You'll see – in a couple of hours, I think."

However, his time estimate turned out to be pretty crude. It took Quaint and Sevek an hour and twenty minutes to fulfill their task, whereas Sulu and Rand had been gone for almost three after that, making their shipmates almost sick with worry. Finally, Uhura reported:

"Captain, the shuttle is in the hangar deck. Lieutenant Sulu reports success."

"Good," a wry grin lingered on Kirk's lips for a moment. "Ms. T'Lenn, take us in, carefully."

"Aye, sir."

"In?" McCoy asked in a shocked voice. "Jim, what in blazes –"

"We have a cure to deliver, don't we, Doctor?" Kirk looked at him steadily. "We'll have to get rid of those in the way."

--

"Ruler," Nort called out to him, watching the screen intently. "I think you should see this."

"What is it, Nort?" Sanar came over, peering over his shoulder. "Ah. I can see Mr. Spock's tricorder is still working."

"It sure is. There's a new ship up there, entering closer orbit. I don't think it's Orion."

"McCoy," Sanaya muttered, looking at the screen, too. "He must have made it."

"It's pretty silly of him to be so straightforward," Sanar said, shaking his head. "Those devils are going to blast him out of the sky in no time."

"They haven't yet," Nort remarked, mildly curious.

"Where's Spock?" Sanar asked his sister. "He ought to see this."

"He's teaching in the North Town," she said. "I'll send him a message."

"Better hurry," Sanar said. "I don't think it's going to last long."

She turned to leave the room, when the floor suddenly made a jump, like an untamed horse.

"What in the name of –" But Nort never finished his phrase, for there came another jump, and another, and a series of more.

"An earthquake!" Sanaya shouted, and there was no denying her assessment of the situation in the havoc of falling furniture and rupturing walls.

"But the seismic controllers?" Sanar yelled, trying to hold on to a desk leg.

"They must have gone off!" Nort told him, trying to stay on his knees. "The dampening field has been affecting them for weeks now."

"We have to get out," Sanaya said at the top of her voice. "If we stay here, we're doomed."

Slowly, helping each other, they crawled in the direction of the exit, when, as abruptly as they had begun, the jolts subsided. Hesitantly the Calliopeans came to their feet.

"Is everyone all right, Ruler?" a technician asked, coming through the shattered door on the run.

"Yes," Sanaya answered. "How badly are we hurt, do you know?"

"The seismic controls went off here, in the West Coast, and in the North Town, Madame. Severe casualties and massive destruction."

Sanaya went pale. "Is there any possibility of restoring communication?"

"We're working on it, Madame," he disappeared into the hall.

"I'm sorry, Chancellor," Nort said, while Sanar put a hand on her shoulder. She shook it off impatiently.

"Is the monitor still working? I want to know what's happening up there!"

Nort stepped closer, nodding. "Seems to be working all right. This new ship... good gracious. It has destroyed somehow one of the Orions."

"What?" Sanar asked incensed. "Killing everyone on board? Savages."

"We don't know what happened," Sanaya snapped, fighting back tears. She couldn't afford to show weakness now. "They might have been defending themselves."

"Since when is that a good enough reason to commit murder, sister?" Sanar looked at her incredulously, but she refused to accept the challenge.

"We don't know what's happening," was all she said in a quiet colorless voice. "We might never know."

--

"Tell me, how many more of your ships must I destroy to prove that there's no way for you out of this?" Kirk asked the Orion leader sternly.

McCoy secretly rejoiced hearing his tone of voice, he'd come to miss. That was the Captain in his most commanding, most sharp, most invigorating mode – the very nature of the individual called James T. Kirk. It was about time he remembered who he was.

The Orion frowned, listening to reports his officers were giving him. He stared at the human with pure hatred.

"Our fleet can be here in no time at all, Kirk," he hissed menacingly. "And then, your little game will be up."

A cold predatory smile creased Kirk's lips, as he tilted his chin up stubbornly.

"Do you honestly think I'm such an idiot not to take every precaution, Meven?" he asked, shaking his head as if in disbelief. "The whole sector is mined. So unless all your captains are kamikaze, I don't believe they'd be willing to come to your rescue."

"You are one ship!"

"What makes you think so?" the Captain's face was giving nothing away. "You didn't see us coming, did you? We have mobilized the whole sector's defenses for all you know."

"You're lying, Kirk!"

"Oh, nay, he isn't."

On the Bridge of the _Intrepid_, they all jumped at the sound of this abundantly familiar voice.

"Scotty!" Uhura exclaimed, and, without waiting for the Captain's order, switched channels, so that both the Chief Engineer of the _Enterprise_ and the Orion were represented.

"Who are you?" The Orion demanded angrily.

"Captain Scott of the _Enterprise_, at yer service, sir," Scotty said with inimitable aplomb. "Do ye have any problems with this imbecile, Captain Kirk?"

"Uh, yes. Yes, Captain Scott, I dare say, I have. They refuse to accept our gracious terms and lift their ridiculous blockade."

"Really, Captain? Aye, that's damn stupid of them. Perhaps, they need a little persuasion?"

He nodded to someone off screen, and in the next moment the Orion main bridge shuddered visibly. It's taken the Orion captain some time to emerge onto the screen again.

"Why do _you_ suddenly need this planet, Kirk?" he asked in an angry defeated tone, and McCoy knew they had won. "What could you possibly want with it? It's just a bunch of carved rocks."

"Yes, and I happen to like those rocks where they are," Kirk said. "Meven, unless you fancy the idea of starting a war with the Federation, I suggest you get out. Captain Scott will see you and your fleet to your borders. And no tricks, Meven. The explosives are still there."

"We will go," the Orion replied, barely controlling his rage. "But you and I will meet again, Kirk. That I promise you."

"I'm looking forward to it. Kirk out. Lieutenant, secure channel to the _Enterprise_."

"Yes, sir. You're on."

"Scotty!" Kirk grinned broadly at the sight of his Chief Engineer. "You are a miracle worker, aren't you? How in God's name did you happen to get here so conveniently?"

"It's a long story, sir."

Kirk glanced at McCoy. "I'm getting used to hear that."

"Captain, it's damn nice to see ye, sir, but before we go after those blasted bastards – have ye found our missing lasses?"

"Indeed I have, Mr. Scott. They're all safe and sound."

Uhura stood up quickly to come to Kirk's side and waved at Scotty. He beamed at her.

"To business, Mr. Scott," Kirk pushed Uhura gently, but firmly out of sight. "As soon, as you leave the system, send a communications buoy to Starfleet Command. Explain what had happened and ask them to deploy at least three Intrepid-class ships to the Misty Worlds zone, just to make sure the Orions have got the message."

"Aye, sir. I'll be back to pick ye up in no time at all, sir."

"I'll keep you at your word, Mr. Scott. Godspeed."

"Aye, sir. Scott out."

"Well, Jim, it seems you've made it again," McCoy came over, resting a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"It's not over yet, Bones," Kirk sighed, all his cheerfulness suddenly gone. "Let's see just how many of those carved rocks are still there."

--

Walking along the silent, gloomy streets, the Doctor couldn't help shivering.

"It was never supposed to be this dark here, Jim," he muttered, the overpowering sense of unease weighing heavily on his shoulders. "Something went terribly wrong."

Kirk frowned even deeper. "With the Orions circling around like jackals? I'll say."

They beamed down a large party, having not only Uhura, Quaint, Rand and Chapel accompany them, but also Sevek and T'Lenn, leaving Sulu in charge of the ship. They had been walking for half an hour, without meeting a single person on their way.

"They couldn't all have died, could they?" Chapel asked in a shaky voice. "This feels like a graveyard."

Nobody answered her, as they continued their walk in heavy silence. Suddenly, McCoy pointed his hand forward.

"Jim, I think I saw someone over there!"

"He's right," Quaint confirmed. "There're people coming out from – looks like from underground, Captain."

Without a word, Kirk ran for them, followed closely by his officers. A stream of exhausted, pale, thin to the bone, but undoubtedly alive people were coming out in the open, wincing in the soft Calliopean light.

"That's all right," a girl of no more than seventeen or eighteen was saying, encouraging the others to move on. "There's no need to stay there anymore. Come out."

She looked familiar, and McCoy risked to speak out. "Excuse me."

She turned to look at him, and smiled instantly, sings of definite recognition in her eyes.

"Doctor McCoy! Everyone, come see, the Doctor's back with us!"

Perhaps, she shouldn't be indulging her own joy to make her shout, for she suddenly bent over, clutching her belly, as a severe stroke of coughs hit her.

"Easy," Chapel muttered, supporting her. "The cure is on its way. You'll be better soon."

"Thank you," the girl straightened up with obvious difficulty, but refused to accept any further help. "I need to go to the other Spockshelters. The earthquake ruined communications grid. They might not have heard the Chancellor."

"Spockshelters?" McCoy asked perplexed.

She smiled vaguely, starting to walk away. "That's what the children call them. They think he's a magician."

"Wait!" the Doctor called after her. "The Chancellor, where is she?"

"Still in the Misty Hall, I think. She's just made her address, some minutes ago."

"Where is it, Bones?" Kirk asked him.

"About half a mile in that direction," McCoy answered, with a hint of uncertainty. "At least, it used to be."

His recollection, however, was good enough to make them find the building even in the devastated condition of the city. Looking around, the Doctor couldn't help sighing deeply.

They walked in, and were immediately confronted by a young Calliopean, who bowed at them.

"The Ruler has been expecting you," he said. "Please, follow me."

Kirk threw a wary glance at McCoy, but the Doctor merely shrugged. The Misty Council appeared much as he remembered it, with the exclusion of sparkling robes, for none could be seen there anymore, and several seats that remained flagrantly empty. The Ruler, however, was in his usual place, with Sanaya, much to McCoy's joy, at his side. It was she who spoke to him the first.

"Doctor McCoy, you have returned."

"Yes, Madame Chancellor. I'm delighted to see you in good health."

"Thank you," she bowed slightly. "I'm pleased to know the Orions haven't hurt you, too."

"Not that they haven't tried. But we managed to obtain the plants, Madame Chancellor. With your permission, I would like to start distribute it to your people."

"Not so fast, Doctor," Sanar said coldly, coming to his feet, and looking directly at Kirk. "Who is this man beside you? And is he – or are you – responsible for the barbarous elimination of life in our orbit?"

"I'm Captain James Kirk of the starship _Enterprise_," Kirk replied for his friend, knowing that the question was addressed to him. "And yes, I have destroyed that Orion cruiser, if that's what you're asking. I needed to make them lift off the blockade."

"I see. And you are proud of this act, aren't you?"

"That I made it possible for your people to see the light of sun again? That I ensured their continuing existence by bringing them the cure they so desperately need? Of course I'm proud of that."

"You are, aren't you? You are violating the very ground you're standing on, Captain Kirk," Sanar declared with obvious anger. "We never wanted to survive at such a cost. How many did you kill? A hundred? A thousand?"

"They were your enemies and they were fighting us!" McCoy retorted, quite outraged himself. "We didn't start this war, they did!"

"And that gives you the right to slaughter?"

"Look, we don't argue that according to your beliefs, our actions could be seen as a breach of principles," Kirk admitted gravely. "But now is not the time to judge each other for the actions of the past. Your people are still dying and we have the cure. Will you let us help?"

"Will you stand trial for your crimes, Captain? We need the cure badly, but we can't accept it from a murderer."

"If that's what it takes to make you listen, I will."

"Sanar, you have already put the Federation on trial once. Was that not enough?"

They all turned around to see Spock coming in, a group of children following him. Sanaya gasped and made a subconscious step toward him, catching herself at the last moment.

"Spock..." Kirk whispered at the same time and with the same sentiment that McCoy said, "Oh good God."

The Vulcan looked astonishingly bad. Kirk could hardly believe that in a few weeks he hadn't seen him, anyone could lose that much weight. Spock was incredibly pale, his black eyes shining by contrast with a glimmer of red, like carbuncles. But he walked as confidently as ever to the centre of the hall, looking directly at the Ruler.

"If you put Captain Kirk on trial," he said, "I shall stand it with him."

"You have nothing to prove to us, Mr. Spock," Sanar said calmly. "On what grounds will you defend this man?"

Spock glanced at Kirk briefly, holding his gaze for a moment, then walked over to him and came to a stop at his side, some two inches in front of him, turning to face Sanar again.

"It is my duty," Spock declared in a clear even tone, "as his First Officer."

McCoy felt his head spinning slightly, as he saw Jim smile for the first time in days, touched deeply by that open admission of devotion. Damn this Vulcan, the Doctor shook his head in exasperation. Somebody has to work on his timing.

"Spock, how can someone as peaceful as you stand by someone as openly hostile?" Sanar looked bewildered. "Your feelings towards these people must be clouding your judgment."

Spock lifted a brow with profound Vulcan arrogance, which made his answer even more unexpected.

"I have never been blinded by friendship, Sanar," he said, giving the name to the vague reference of the Ruler.

"He's never been blinded by friendship, that's true," Kirk confirmed. McCoy noticed Spock flinch at these words and realized what he must have thought. But, at that moment, Kirk added, stepping closer and putting a hand on his shoulder, "That's why I value his so much."

Sanar looked at them frowning, evidently coming to an unpleasant decision.

"Very well, Mr. Spock, if you insist, you'll have to-"

"Wait!" Sanaya exclaimed, her patience running out fast. "What are you doing, Sanar?" she demanded. "You said it yourself, you can't trust the Federation, but you can trust one man – this man," she pointed at Spock. "He literary saved this planet. Without him, neither of us would be standing here now. Is that not enough to give a little more trust when asked? Has he not earned some credit of tolerance for his people?"

Kirk peered over at McCoy with an obvious question in his eyes, but the Doctor merely shrugged, looking distinctly curious himself.

"The simple fact is, our people are dying, Sanar! And they can help. Would you turn them down because their way of life insults you? They don't want to make us share it."

"And after your people are cured, we'll leave if asked," Kirk stepped in quickly. "Madame Chancellor is right, we only want your continual survival."

"How many more tests do you want, my brother? Even if they are violent, even if they are murderers, right now they are acting out of their purest better intentions. Will it not be right to encourage them in this commendable attitude? Would you rather make them think twice next time before offering somebody their help? What will you be waging with this action? Peace or hostility?"

Kirk glanced at Sanaya with a great deal of open admiration and, much to McCoy's surprise, so did Spock, though naturally, he caught himself quickly.

Sanar was silent for a long moment, contemplating his sister's words. He turned to his councilors for advice, but it didn't take them long to formulate an opinion. Finally, he faced the Captain and his company again, looking grim but determined.

"Very well, Captain Kirk. We will accept your help."

"Gratefully," Sanaya added, earning herself a furious glance, but then Sanar nodded.

"Gratefully. We are indeed profoundly grateful for everything the Federation has done for us," his gaze drifted to Spock for a moment, before returning back to Kirk. "But I'm afraid afterwards we will ask you to leave. Please, do not be offended, Captain. Our way of life is too dear to us to risk losing it."

"I understand," Kirk nodded. "I'm glad you'll let us help. We'll respect your wishes, Ruler."

"Then let me say what I should have said much earlier, Captain," Sanar almost smiled. "Welcome to Calliope."

"Thank you."

Spock turned to look at his shipmates, and nobody, certainly not the perceptive Doctor, missed that he was carefully avoiding Kirk's gaze.

"Right, I don't have time for the two of you right now," McCoy snapped. "Spock, is there still some place left where we could work?"

"Follow me," the Vulcan replied curtly, starting away, when he suddenly remembered he didn't ask for his superior officer's permission. He stopped abruptly, turning back, but Kirk, who had read the situation instantly, was already waving dismissively at him.

"Oh, by all means, go, Mr. Spock."

McCoy and Chapel started after him, and Kirk nodded to Quaint. "Lieutenant, they might need some help."

"Yes, sir," she joined the departing group almost on the run.

Watching them go, the Captain sighed with some unidentifiable, but mildly annoying emotion. He looked at the Calliopeans and noticed that Sanaya was staring after them, too. The Ruler stepped down to her, putting a comforting hand on her forearm.

"You should go, too," he told her softly. "Your time's running out."

She turned to face him, and Kirk noticed tears glimmering in the corners of her eyes. She was, he noticed suddenly, exceptionally beautiful. McCoy's description of her was more of a strict, almost formidable person in sparkling clothes, which made her look even more inapproachable. What he saw in reality, was an exquisite, though bearing certain signs of fatigue in her features, woman, who, despite her plain clothing, and simple hairstyle, was perfectly well imaginable looking down from elegant epic paintings of Nicolas Poussin, calling to freedom in Eugene Delacriox's barricades in Paris, while moving with grace and youthful harmony of Dega's blue dancers. She was a state of art, equipped with a steel core that could neither bend, nor break under whatever strain was put upon it. He wasn't sure if he had ever seen anyone, who evoked the reaction of wariness, respect and deep sympathy at the same time.

She nodded to Sanar, her head going down in a defeated gesture, but snapping up instantly, as if she remembered they were not alone. She came over to where the Captain stood, and looked him in the eye, clear cold fire splashing in her gaze.

"Do you even know, Captain Kirk, how lucky you are?"

She turned on her heels and left before he could reply, or even ask what it was she meant to tell him.

--


	11. Chapter 11 The Same Star

**Chapter 11**

**The Same Star**

A week had passed before they received the call from Mr. Scott, announcing his return to Calliope, and a busy week it had been. The Doctor took charge of the vaccination on a planetary scale, with Spock, Quaint, Chapel and Sanaya helping him almost around the clock, while the Captain drafted Uhura, Rand and all the Vulcans Sulu could spare to assist Sanar in organizing the repairs of the planet's technical systems. Due to their efforts, by the dusk of day six, the capital started to resemble its own brightly glimmering self.

It was late in the afternoon the next day, when McCoy found Kirk sitting in front of the tent, where the humans and the Vulcans lived. The Captain had a steaming cup in his hands and was staring at it dreamily.

"You wanna be careful with that stuff," McCoy warned him, coming over. "It's double as strong as coffee."

"I've noticed," Kirk nodded. "That's why I like it. How's it going, Bones?"

The Doctor sighed tiredly, but looked pleased.

"We're done, Jim. That formula Spock and I have found seems to have made the trick. No more presence of virus in their systems."

"Bones, that's terrific," Jim looked at him with open admiration. "Sometimes I envy your ability to help people like this."

McCoy snorted. "Sometimes I envy your ability to command a starship. To each his own."

"I suppose."

"I heard Sanar is throwing some kind of 'good-bye – thank you' ceremony."

"He does. In fact, it starts in about an hour."

"Damn, I hate this pompous stuff," McCoy muttered under his breath. "I wish I could skip it."

"So do I," Kirk confessed grimly. "I'm so tired, I'd rather get some sleep. Maybe, Spock could go on behalf of all of us."

McCoy glanced at him pointedly.

"You haven't talked to him, have you?"

Kirk lowered his eyes. "Now that you mentioned it, I don't think I've seen a lot of him in the last few days. I mean, he still lives at that hospital."

"Don't tell me it's the only thing that's been stopping you."

Kirk sighed. "It's not. But we've both been pretty busy."

"Well, why don't you go now?" McCoy suggested softly, startling him. "I happen to know for a fact that he's packing at the moment."

"Bones, I don't know what to tell him. What if he didn't mean it?"

"You'd think it's about time you started trusting him. Even I do."

"But what if–"

"Damn it, Jim, just go, will you? Remember we talked about a quiet room someplace? Go, you owe me that much."

Slowly, Kirk came up to his feet. He smiled tentatively, handing McCoy the cup.

"Be careful with that stuff, Bones. Though, from the looks of it, you do need it."

"Thanks," the Doctor bowed sarcastically, watching him go.

The hospital was only around the corner, and the Captain found himself entering Spock's lab/office/quarters in no time at all. He immediately spotted Spock and Sanaya. They were simply standing facing each other, with good couple of meters in between, but something about them indicated so palpably it was a private moment – it made Kirk stop short and say, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

They had both looked back at him, at this point. Sanaya, smiling sadly, but serenely, and Spock, well, Spock was just – Spock.

"That's all right, Captain, I was already leaving," without one final glance towards the silent Vulcan, she walked over to Jim, and fixed him with a focused stare for a moment. "Take good care of him," she said simply and quietly. "It's not only your good fortune, it's your responsibility."

At this moment, she was so easy to read, he smiled warmly at her, acknowledging her request. "I'll watch over for him as I would for a brother," he assured her.

"I believe you." She smiled and left.

Finally alone, they looked at each other, experiencing a most unusual unease. At last, Kirk shook his head, and, smiling awkwardly, spoke.

"This is ridiculous. Spock, I... I'm sorry about the way I treated you back on the ship. I was touched to hear your claim in the Council Chamber, but don't worry, if it were mere tactics, and not what you really want, you can tell me. I promise I won't react... overemotionally."

Spock lifted up an eyebrow at this. "Captain, we might have a minor misunderstanding here."

Kirk flinched, he couldn't help it.

"Last time you said that..." he suddenly changed his mind about noble acceptance of whatever decision Spock could come to. "Dammit, Spock, I need you. I should never have pushed you away like that. The only thing I can tell you is that I paid for it dearly. I said once I wouldn't ever beg you - well, I'm as close to reconsidering this as possibly imaginable."

"Jim, please," Spock raised a hand to stop him, looking mildly embarrassed. "You are only making my debt to you larger. I only meant I believed I was the one who should ask forgiveness."

"Oh," Kirk said. "What for? You only -"

"I _only_ hurt you," the Vulcan cut him off evenly, his eyes veiled with suppressed emotion. "The fact that I do not experience emotions does not excuse my behavior."

"You had your reasons."

"Yes," Spock nodded with open sarcasm on his own account. "I was largely dissatisfied with my role in previous events."

"That's my fault, not yours. If I wasn't slow in assessing the situation, you wouldn't have to confront me to keep me on track. By the way," he added grimly, "I can't guarantee it won't happen again. I'm not the person I thought I was, Spock, if you stay with me, this close to me, you might be facing the same gruesome task again. I can hardly ask that of you, but I can't trust anyone else with it."

The Vulcan met his gaze unwaveringly.

"Captain, I have not said what I said in order to gain a tactical advantage. If it is still your wish to work with me, I am willing to accept the _full _measure of responsibility."

"It's not going to be easy on you," Kirk warned him. "I gain more here, than you do."

"I do not agree," Spock said simply. "And I will not agree with you one hundred percent of the time in future as well."

"I don't expect you to," Kirk grinned at him. "In fact, I'm counting that you won't."

"Oh, God, excuse me, I didn't mean to intrude."

Only meeting Lieutenant Quaint's unusually awkward gaze, did Kirk realize how close to his First Officer he was standing. There were hardly two inches of space in between them, which, combined with the low earnest voices both were using, must have been projecting the image of undeniable intimacy. Mildly surprised, for he didn't notice this happening, Kirk almost laughed, watching Quaint's cheeks flush, as he stepped away. What did she think they were discussing? Secret plans to go after the Orions?

Spock, apparently thinking along the same lines, said with a fine measure of irony:

"There is no need for apologies, Lieutenant. We were not talking about overthrowing the Calliopean government."

"That's a relief, sir," she smiled, still looking mildly embarrassed. "I was sent to tell you that the ceremony is about to start in the Misty Hall. Your presence is required."

"Thank you, Ms. Quaint," Kirk nodded, turning to face her. "We'll be there shortly."

"Yes, sir."

Quaint shot an self-conscious grin at Spock, nodded to Kirk, and disappeared into the corridor. Kirk looked at his First Officer warily.

"Mr. Spock," he started hesitantly. "I know how adamantly you watch over for those on your staff... I believe I should tell you that Lieutenant Quaint and I had a – an unusual incident, while on Origas."

"Yes, Captain," Spock watched him curiously, but decided to save him the trouble. "She told me."

"She told you?" Kirk gaped at him, stunned. "She – told – you?"

Much as he was imaginative, he could not envision such a conversation to take place between Spock and Quaint.

"Indeed, Captain," the Vulcan assured him calmly. "She told me."

Kirk bit his tongue only nearly in time to stop the question, burning on his lips: what kind of relationship do you have that she was able to talk to you about this?

But at all times, in all fleets, there had been certain questions that even captains couldn't ask without risking to be rightfully hit in the face.

"I..." he had no idea what to say. "I'm sorry... I didn't..."

"Captain," Spock interrupted him calmly. "Was it your intention to mistreat her in any way?"

"No," Kirk shook his head determinately.

"Did you take the advantage of the situation?"

"Of course not!"

"Miss Quaint does not believe you did, either," Spock informed him, raising an eyebrow as if to underline his point. "I can see therefore no logical grounds for either myself to be concerned, or for you to apologize."

For a couple of rather long seconds, Kirk could only stare at him wordlessly.

"Your logic – as always – is flawless, Mr. Spock," he said finally.

It is common knowledge that Vulcans hardly ever smile, but Spock bowed his head a little bit too conveniently in Kirk's opinion, not to be suspected in trying to hide this very human idiosyncrasy. When he looked up, however, his face was his usual reserved calmness.

"Since we are reporting _unusual incidents_ here, Captain, I submit that the diplomatic team should probably be put on alert to expect charges against certain Starfleet officer raised by a certain Calliopean high ranking official regarding the breach of Starfleet Protocol 37."

Starfleet Protocol 37, as Kirk knew only too well, specifically prohibited forming personal relationships between Starfleet officers and representatives of alien cultures without proper clarification. The language in the Protocol did not specify what kind of personal relationships it bore in mind, but every Starfleet officer from junior grade lieutenants to the C-in-C knew perfectly well what it was all about. Kirk most certainly did, as he committed such breaches on more than few occasions.

The hint behind Spock's words was only too clear, but the Captain couldn't help his own amusement.

"Spock – Sanaya?"

The Vulcan didn't reply, just nodded once curtly.

"I do not look forward to the prospect," he stated evenly, "but should you find it necessary, I shall submit myself to full examination and questioning."

"Well," Kirk shook his head, grinning. "I might have ordered an examination – just to be on the safe side, and of course for sport, - if I didn't know that McCoy had already examined you. As far as I know him, he wouldn't miss anything."

"Indeed," Spock confirmed grimly, "the Doctor is very thorough."

"Tell me about it," Kirk grunted, massaging his neck. "Listen, Spock, frankly, I don't see any trouble coming from there. I don't need to know what happened. From the very first moment I saw you, I knew at least one thing about you to be absolutely true – you are a gentleman in the most ancient meaning of this word. I simply can't picture you acting... dishonorably in any way. As for her, the Chancellor literary lightens up every time you walk into a room, and gets upset every time you walk out. I just can't imagine her pressing charges against you."

Spock's eyebrow went up again.

"Although I do not believe the correlation between my presence and the Chancellor's reaction to be true-"

"Of course you don't," Kirk muttered under his breath.

"-I do, in fact, agree with your estimation of the probability of her pressing charges. It is extremely low."

"Then why -?"

Spock looked at him somberly.

"Captain," he said, and corrected himself promptly, "Jim, I simply did not wish for our relationship to continue with any sort of omission."

Their eyes locked and held. Kirk knew with absolute clarity that he was hearing a pledge. No omissions. Certainly, no lies. The very delicacy of the subject Spock had chosen, especially for a Vulcan, underlined the depths of sincerity he offered, and Kirk knew that such a gift could only be accepted by the cost of equally unwavering trust. The trust, he realized suddenly, that, to this person, he had long been ready to give.

"In that case, Spock, thank you for sharing this with me," he said firmly, and repeated a phrase Spock once used, trying to convey his loyalty, "Your trust honors me."

Just as Spock bowed his head, accepting his counter-pledge, McCoy walked in, looking impatient.

"If you, gentlemen, are through talking about your love affairs, I suggest we get back to the hall. The ceremony is about to start, and it can't because you two couldn't find a better time for gossip."

"Bones," Kirk shook his head helplessly, but Spock looked up with sudden enthusiasm, or more accurately, that miniscule measure of it that was suitable for a Vulcan.

"It is fortunate that you are here, Doctor," he declared much to McCoy's surprise. "I know of a person who had been willing to meet you for a considerable amount of time."

"What are you talking about, Spock?" McCoy asked bewildered.

"Come with me, please."

The Doctor and an equally intrigued Kirk followed him into the corridor and then into a ward. Just as Spock entered and stepped aside, a short shining object, glimmering in gold and orange, collided with the transfixed Doctor with a most undignified yelp.

"Bonad!" McCoy exclaimed amazed, smiling broadly at the boy he considered dead. "How are you doing?"

"I'm absolutely fine, Doctor!" the boy said happily. "I wanted to thank you for the cure. It saved my life!" And he hugged the tall man empathically somewhere around his upper legs.

Though moved deeply by the scene, Kirk couldn't help laughing at the expression on McCoy's face.

"Spock," McCoy called menacingly – and blindly, for he couldn't turn or even move without endangering himself of falling down. "I'll get you for it. I don't know how, but you can count on it."

Spock merely raised an eyebrow at him, but his eyes were glinting suspiciously.

"Captain," he said. "I believe they are expecting us in the Misty Hall."

Kirk was never slow to catch a hint.

"You're right, Mr. Spock, let's not make the Misty Council wait any longer."

"Wait!" McCoy yelled, trying unsuccessfully to disengage himself from the boy's affectionate grip.

"I am sorry, Doctor, but in the means of diplomacy we must proceed immediately."

"In the means of...!"

"That's right, Bones, the Ruler is waiting."

"The Ruler! I-"

"I look forward to see you back aboard the ship, Doctor."

"Aboard...!"

"Don't forget, we lift off at 1800."

"Oh, and Doctor? While you are otherwise occupied, you might find it beneficial to reconsider the length of your examination procedure."

"And the number of physicals you want us to take each year."

"And the necessity of every test you force your patients to undertake."

"And your damn diet recommendations."

"And your inimitable bedside manner."

"All right, Spock, let's go, they're really waiting for us."

"Yes, Captain."

For a moment or two, nothing could be heard from the ward, but some incomprehensible panting and grumping. Then, there was a sound of a heavy object falling down from a considerable height, and a tender child's voice asking with genuine concern:

"Are you all right, Doctor?"

Nothing.

"Doctor McCoy?"

Slowly, as if creeping, a sound of laughter emerged, becoming louder and louder by the second.

"Doctor? Did you hurt yourself?"

More laughter. Then, a series of words, without any apparent pattern, infiltrated with more and more laughs.

"... green-blooded son of... underestimated... get... both of you... wait..."

A highly confused five-year-old came out of the ward, shaking his head in utmost bewilderment.

"Learie was right. All the crazy people come from the Federation."

He walked slowly down the corridor, with the sound of laughter still following him all the way to the exit.

--

Fin

(End of Part 2)


End file.
